


Coming Out of the Shadows

by soliloquize



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Gryffindor!Rose, Next-Gen, Slytherin!Albus, Slytherin!Scorpius, genderfluid teddy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-04-23 17:23:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 34,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4885363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soliloquize/pseuds/soliloquize
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Albus would be able to choose.  His father promised.<br/>But this time, the Sorting Hat dug in its (metaphorical ) heels.</p>
<p>Scorpius is excited for Hogwarts, to finally meet other witches and wizards his age.<br/>He's the latest in a long line of Malfoys to be put in Slytherin, but his father is not a Death Eater.</p>
<p>Rose is the Golden Trio's golden girl, but she's about to find out the world isn't as black and white as it seems.</p>
<p>Status quos are broken, new threats emerge, and Slytherin house must once again choose where its loyalties stand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Unexpected Sorting

Rose peered avidly around the entrance hall. It had been lovely to see Hagrid, of course, and the view of the castle from the lake was superb, but nothing was quite as nice as standing inside, knowing this was where she belonged. She had read Hogwarts, A History in preparation (to her father’s dismay) but as the tome was devoid of illustrations, this was her first chance to see everything it discussed.

“Rose, you look like a hyperactive Kneazle,” Al muttered.

“Oh, hush, Kneazles are adorable,” she said, remembering beloved Crookshanks. When Neville—Professor Longbottom now—walked in, however, she did spare a moment to envy Al. He looked as stoic as always, whereas she was bursting with nervous energy. Neville had the Sorting Hat, which meant the moment of reckoning had nearly arrived, which meant she had only minutes left with her father’s unconditional love—not that she entirely believed that he would disown her if she didn’t get sorted into Gryffindor. Mum wouldn’t let him she assured herself. Dad never went against Mum, or at least he never went against Mum successfully.

“Welcome first-years!” Neville’s voice rang through the hall rather more commandingly than she had ever heard it at the Sunday brunches her family joined the Longbottoms for. “In just a minute, you will step into the Great Hall to be Sorted. It’s quite a sight, and there’s no reason to be nervous for your Sorting,” he added kindly in response to the collective paling at the mention of Sorting. “There are four houses, and you can earn points for your house through your achievements. Of course, you can lose points for your house if you choose to go down the troublemaking path. Points go towards the House Cup—the house that wins this has unparalleled bragging rights at the end of term feast, and I’m sure none of you want to miss out on that!”

His introduction apparently finished, he turned and walked into the Great Hall, motioning the students to follow. They did, some more timidly than others. Rose gasped when she saw the enchanted ceiling, and she wasn’t alone. Soon, though, attention shifted to Neville and the hat and stool he carried; the seated older students continued to chatter, but among the first years you could hear a pin drop. The stool was set down, and the hat placed on top.

There was a moment of silence before the hat burst into song:

_“Hello and welcome, once again_

_To another Hogwarts Sorting!_

_You want to know where you belong_

_But first a word of warning:_

_Beware your misconceptions_

_Of which there may be lots_

_Don’t judge a house based_

_On which side its members fought_

_Not one house is free of flaws_

_So focus on the pros_

_Now you’ve heard my advice_

_Shall we get on with the show?_

_Of the legendary founders four_

_Let’s first look at the house of Gryffindor._

_These folk are brave and bold,_

_Ready to push the limit_

_What makes this house exceptional_

_Is all the courage in it._

_Don’t worry if that is not_

_Somewhere you’d fit in_

_T_ _here are other options_

_Y_ _ou could belong in Slytherin._

_Where ingenuity, pride, and drive_

_Are defining qualities_

_The success of members of this house_

_Is no mystery._

_But if that cunning is too subtle_

_You should consider Ravenclaw_

_Those with great intelligence_

_Will surely see the draw_

_Of valuing brains and wit_

_And a thinking mind_

_Which will never quit._

_But maybe your strength lies elsewhere_

_In Hufflepuff perchance?_

_They are loyal and work hard_

_If they only have the chance._

_And so we have the four houses_

_Where do you belong?_

_Put me on and I’ll tell you_

_I’ve never yet been wrong._

_If you don’t know where you should be,_

_Do not be afraid._

_I’m the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

_And that’s why I was made!_ ”

Rose clapped when she realized that’s what everyone else was doing. When the applause died down, though, her breath caught. It’s time.

“Ashton, Emily!” Neville called. Rose closed her eyes.

* * *

 Scorpius had been staring determinedly at the ceiling so as not to focus on the dwindling line in front of him. He didn’t even think he had a reason to be nervous; Malfoys had been in Slytherin as long as such things had been recorded, but it was nerve-wracking all the same.

“Malfoy, Scorpius!”

Time to test that theory. He tried to walk as confidently as his father did, but he couldn’t help biting his lip as he sat on the stool and put the hat on his head.

“Oh, another Malfoy, eh? How interesting, very interesting,” the hat whispered enigmatically into his ear. “You’re quite a bit more difficult to place than your father, you know.” _You don’t have to say that like it’s a good thing_ , Scorpius thought back at the hat resentfully.

“There you go, prove my point! Loyal to your father, unafraid to express your opinion, and no small amount of brains either! Yes, you’ve got lots of options.” Scorpius found himself rather bewildered by the hat’s summary. He had never seriously considered the possibility he could get Sorted somewhere other than Slytherin.

“So you’re interested in Slytherin then? I see that you are quite anxious to make your family proud. You certainly have the subtlety and finesse of thought. Yes, I think you’ll do well in—

“SLYTHERIN!”

* * *

Albus had been following the Sorting obsessively. So far there had been eight Hufflepuffs, five Ravenclaws, nine Gryffindors, and six Syltherins. The hat had taken the most time deciding with Scorpius Malfoy, of all people, although a Ravenclaw named Fiona Fawcett had been on the stool for a while too. Albus took this all in while standing perfectly still, trying not to panic. He just knew James was staring at him, waiting for him to freak out; he wouldn’t give his brother any such satisfaction.

He heard Neville call his name from what sounded like miles away, and he took in a deep breath. Moving slowly, as if in a dream, he put the hat on his head.

“Oh how interesting!” the hat greeted him “Not at all what I expect from your family.” Albus didn’t know whether to be indignant or worried at what seemed like a veiled insult.

“Don’t you worry, being different isn’t a bad thing. But you know that don’t you? And it bothers you that others don’t. That’s quite a desire to prove yourself you have.” Albus registered the direction of the hat’s thoughts. _What? No! You can’t put me in Slytherin!_ He clenched his fists and swallowed the rising panic.

“Calm down” the hat chided. “It’s not so bad as that. You want to do well. You want show everyone that there are some things you can do better than your brother. You think of things a little differently, and can often find a solution when others think there isn’t one.” _But wouldn’t that be Ravenclaw?_ Al thought, desperate to find any alternative.

“Oh, I’m afraid not. Cunning and ingenuity are completely different from raw intelligence. Slytherin is what’s best for you, you will not convince me otherwise.” _But—why not Gryffindor? Am I as much of a coward as James always says?_ Albus could not help voicing (thinking? He supposed the action was nonverbal, after all) his insecurities with no small amount of bitterness. If he were sorted into Slytherin, he’d be doing nothing but proving James right.

“Whoever said Slytherins couldn’t be brave?” challenged the hat irately. “Courage doesn’t require bravado. You stand up for yourself—and others—but you have the ability to do it without making enemies. Or at least without being found out by your enemies.” The hat’s words reminded Albus of the times he had managed to avenge himself (or Lily, or Rose) on James (or Freddie) without his brother’s knowledge. Whereas James’s pranks tended to blow up very ostentatiously, resulting in the eldest Potter being grounded more often than not, plots orchestrated by Al could be explained away as chance happenings.

“See?” interjected the hat, following his thoughts. “You aren’t cut from the same cloth as your brother. You aren’t one to go blundering into things regardless of the consequences; you plan around the consequences, figure out how to thwart them while still accomplishing your objective. And really, if you aren’t going to stop incessantly comparing yourself to your brother, I don’t see how you can deny your ambition.” _I—are you saying showing everyone I’m not the inferior brother is an ambitious task?_ Albus thought furiously.

“Not at all,” the hat returned smoothly, “You and your brother might as well be apples and oranges. However, getting recognition as anything but an extension of your family is going to be difficult.” Al pondered this piece of worldly wisdom. It was true that he was often overshadowed by the collective reputations of his vast family, but he received far too much attention as it was. Did it matter whether he was singled out for being Albus Potter instead of being Harry Potter’s son? _I don’t need more attention, thanks_ , he told the hat defiantly.

“It would be hard to be the only Potter in Slytherin, wouldn’t it?” the hat mused. “That makes the fit all the better, I suppose. You have it in you to overcome that stigma, and to redeem an entire house along the way, _and_ everyone would see you do it. Different can also mean special.” Albus tried to think of another argument. Despite himself, he couldn’t help but be intrigued by the hat’s proposition. James might be popular, but that wasn’t such a feat when your dad is Harry Potter, you’re good at Quidditch, and you’re in the house everyone admires. If he was in Gryffindor, he’d just be James’s little brother, the next Potter. If he were in Slytherin, he’d be different. He could, as the Sorting Hat said, show them all he was special.

“You’ve come around then? Wonderful! Have fun in—

“SLYTHERIN!”


	2. The Aftermath

Rose was as shocked as the rest of the Great Hall seemed to be, judging by the absolute silence.  Even the Slytherins appeared to be too shocked even to applaud their new housemate.  Al didn’t look much different.  After spending more than five minutes on the stool, face screwed up in concentration, Albus was facing the Great Hall with a straight, albeit pale, face.  A Slytherin prefect quickly started clapping to fill the silence, and the rest of his house joined in.  Al walked down to sit at their table unapologetically, making eye contact with no one.  Rose looked over at James at the Gryffindor table; he was sitting next to Fred and both looked as though they had been the recipients of extremely vigorous Nargle attacks.  Not that Rose believed in Nargles, of course, but it was a good expression she had picked up from Aunt Ginny.  It always made her Mum roll her eyes.  
  
“Erm—Quincy, Peter!”  Neville hastily called after a pointed glare from Headmistress Sprout.  The number of students in front of Rose quickly dwindled; no one took half as long as Albus.  His fate left Rose more worried for her own.  She had been fairly confident of being placed in Gryffindor, but if her sweet considerate cousin could end up in Slytherin, all bets were clearly off.  
  
“Weasley, Rose!”  Well, putting it off would change nothing.  Rose marched up to the hat and placed it firmly on her head.   
  
“ _Ah, yet another Weasley.  You certainly would fit in with the rest in Gryffindor, no doubt about that.  Although your brains are certainly not to be discounted either.  You don’t like not knowing what I’m going to decide!  Ignorance bothers you, very Ravenclaw.”_  
  
 _Maybe it’s your self-important babble that bothers me!_  Rose interjected.  Stupid hat thought it was a god, controlling her life, and Albus’s.   
  
“ _Mad that I put your favorite cousin in Slytherin, are you?_ ”  Rose imagined adding a few extra tears to the already battered hat.  “ _Ha! I suppose I have the answer, then.  You’ve made that easy.  For your bravery, but no less for your temper, you are certainly—_  
  
“GRYFFINDOR!”   
  
There was no hesitation in the applause that escorted her to the table where she joined most of her family.  Rose made sure to look over and catch Albus’s eye.  He smiled for her, but she was too far away to figure out if it was genuine.  Al was her best friend, but even she couldn’t guess what he was thinking if he didn’t want her to—she abruptly stopped that train of thought.  It was starting to sound like justification for Al’s placement, and she was determined to be indignant on his behalf.  Perhaps not all Slytherins were evil, but they weren’t often lauded as heroes either.   _Good is more than the absence of bad,_  Rose philosophized.  She was so deep in her contemplations that she missed the Sorting of the final five students whose last names had the misfortune of falling later in the alphabet than “Weasley,” and it took her aback when the solid looking Headmistress stood up to address the students.  
  
“I’ve never claimed to be one for speeches,” she said straightforwardly, “so I’ll just welcome all our new students and welcome back everyone else.  Now, as I believe actions speak louder than words, let’s all complete the action of eating dinner in favor of listening to my predictable words.”  With that the Head seated herself smartly and delicious looking food appeared on the serving dishes that ran the length of each table.  Rose had taken a seat among the other first years, but as she helped herself to turkey and potatoes, she could hear James and Fred quite clearly, despite them being halfway down the table.  
  
“Of course I wound him up over it!  I never thought it would actually  _happen_!”  James protested to Dominique, who was apparently telling him off.  
  
“Yeah, Dom,” Freddie joined in (showering bystanders with partially-masticated potatoes), “You can’t tell us you’ve never teased Louis about stuff like that!”  Dom appeared annoyed at the allegation that she ever stooped to James’s level.  “Anyway, Al’s gonna have to put up with worse now.  Nobody’s gonna let him forget that his dad was the one who defeated Slytherin’s evil poster boy.”  
  
“I can’t quite believe you just referred to  _Lord Voldemort_  as ‘Slytherin’s evil poster boy’,” Dom retorted scathingly.  
  
“Why are you staring over there?” a girl across from Rose suddenly demanded.  “That’s twice I’ve asked your name now, and you haven’t even heard!”  
  
“I’m Rose Weasley, and that’s my family rowing so obnoxiously down there,” Rose returned cooly.  “And you are?”    
  
“Gemma Roth.”  The girl, Gemma, seemed unaware that the manner in which she asked her question could be considered anything short of perfectly polite.  “And that’s Cassie Cauldwalder, Martin Williams, and Harry Fugelhorn,” she continued, pointing out a pudgy blonde girl, a shy looking boy with cornrows, and an athletic boy with an abundance of golden curls.  Rose winced; it was always awkward to meet complete strangers named after her uncle or (less frequently) her parents.  She nodded perfunctorily at each person she’d been introduced to, and without much further conversation, they all set about eating as much as they could.  
  
 

* * *

  
  
Scorpius sat with his back straight, stubbornly exhibiting the dignity that was as much a part of his life (and his family’s) as breathing.  He had not missed the hisses that accompanied the Sorting Hat’s announcement regarding himself, but he would not give anyone the satisfaction of knowing he was bothered.   _No one can make you feel ashamed if you don’t let them_ , his mother’s voice echoed in his ears,  _Stand proud, don’t descend to their level.  Let it be they who are ashamed._  Scorpius remembered the occasion; they had been shopping in Diagon Alley, and the wizened old lady behind them in the queue of Madam Malkin’s had objected to the name Astoria had given when she bought the robes on credit.  _“They let Death Eater spawn shop here?” she squawked.  “They show their faces in public?  No respect!  Don’t they realize what the rest of us went through?”_   Mother had guided him out without saying a word, except to thank an elderly Madam Malkin.   She probably would have pretended it had never happened, but for the cobblestones at Scorpius’s feet that all cracked simultaneously.  It actually was a bit embarrassing; he normally had a much better handle on his emotions and his magic than that.  Even now, as he overheard one of his new housemates warning another about “that traitorous lot of Malfoys”, he remained calm.  Their pettiness was beneath him, it was hardly worth noticing, let alone getting worked up over.  Or so he told himself.  
  
 

* * *

  
  
Al spent most of the meal silently observing his new housemates.  As much as he wanted to tell himself that he was doing this simply to figure out who could be trusted, and who actually justified the Slytherin stereotypes, he knew that wasn’t the reason.  In truth, he had always relied on Rose in social situations; her talkative lack of self-consciousness made it easy for her to make new friends, and as her best friend by default, he could use Rose as a bridge to new friendships.  Now that he was on his own, he was at a loss.  Nobody was approaching him, either; he was an unknown quantity, the sole member of the Potter-Weasleys to be sorted into Slytherin in living memory.  (Not that they were exclusively Gryffindor—he at least had some comfort.  Molly was in Ravenclaw, and Teddy was a Hufflepuff.  Never mind that Teddy wasn’t  _actually_  one of the Potters, although, as Dad had said at the station, he might as well be.)   _Oh Merlin_.  Al’s heart stopped suddenly.   _Dad_.  He knew his father said he didn’t care what house he ended up in, but what if he hadn’t meant it?  He had wanted to distinguish himself, but what if his father saw it as disgrace?  Albus could deal with James’s comments, and he knew he could count on Teddy to keep most of the rest of the cousins quiet, but he hated the idea of disappointing his father.   _What have I gotten myself into?_   Hoping his worry didn’t show on his face, Al continued to eat his dinner mechanically; however when dessert was served, he failed to muster up the appetite for even a single bite of treacle tart.  
  
 

* * *

  
  
            “Oi first years!”  the Head Girl practically bellowed, and Rose laughed to see the normally serene Victoire look so frazzled.  “Follow any Gryffindor prefect to your dorms!  They will explain how to navigate the castle and get into the common room.”  She paused to draw breath.  “And for love of Godric, pay attention when the bloody Head Girl is addressing you!”  Looking around her, Rose saw that her fellow first years did not look amused at Victoire’s outburst.  Martin was actually shaking in alarm.  
  
            “Don’t mind her,” Rose reassured him brightly as they followed Macy Jordan out of the Great Hall.  “She’s only in a mood ‘cause she won’t get a chance to see Teddy for another two months.”  
  
            “Just because her reason for being mad has nothing to do with us doesn’t mean she can’t take it out on us,” Cassie pointed out dryly at the same time Gemma asked,  
  
            “Who’s Teddy?"  
  
  
            “Ted Lupin, my uncle’s godchild and Victoire's partner. They graduated two years ago."    
  
            “Must be a good boyfriend, if she’s that mad to be separated from him,” laughed Harry.  Rose rolled her eyes.  Hanging out with that boy would have irritated her simply because of his name (it was disconcerting trying to match Uncle Harry’s name with some eleven year old she had just met), but he was managing to make enough of a nuisance of himself that she had stopped wishing he would suddenly change his name to Archibald, and started hoping he would just shut up and go away.  
  
            “First of all, Teddy isn't a boy, they're genderfluid.  Also, Victoire is part veela and she has a Weasley temper.  It’s really not that rare for her to scream at people; she just generally avoids doing it in public,” Rose set him straight defiantly.   
  
            “What’s a veela?”  Gemma questioned promptly. Relieved that she wasn't going to have to give an impromptu lesson on gender identities and pronoun usage, Rose answered.  
  
            “A magical being with the ability to make herself hyper-attractive to males to the point where they become entranced,” She was beginning to feel like an encyclopedia.  Her cousins teased her more about her habit of reading her mother’s old textbooks than anything else (except maybe her hair.  Which was decidedly Not Fair.  All of them except Victoire, Louis, and Albus had some degree of ginger hair.  And hers wasn’t any bushier than Fred or Roxanne's, just longer).  “The catch is that when they get angry, they transform into large birds of prey.”  Rose took in Gemma’s shocked look.  “Are you muggleborn?”  
  
            “Um, yeah,” the other girl replied distractedly.  “How do you mean  _transform_?” She sent an anxious look at Vitoire who was up ahead with another group of students.  Rose had to bite her lip as Martin and Harry cottoned on; their trepidation at the possibility of Victoire turning into an angry raptor was comical.  
  
            “You don’t have to worry about her, she’s only one-eighth veela.  Enough to make her gorgeous, not enough to transform her into an angry bird,” Rose reassured them once she felt she could speak while maintaining a straight face.  
  
            “Is she your sister?”  Merlin, did Gemma’s questions ever end?  
  
            “Cousin.”  
  
            “Do you have any older siblings?”  This time Martin asked.  It was quite relieving, actually, that not all wizards had memorized her family tree.   _The life of a celebrity_ , Rose lamented before remembering she hadn’t answered.  
  
            “Nope, all the Weasleys here are cousins.  I’ve got a brother, but—“ Rose broke off when the group stopped moving.  She was not overly tall (Hugo had almost caught up to her, and she lived in fear of the day he passed her, knowing that superior physique was instrumental in maintaining her role as the dominant sibling) but she was close enough to the front to see a plump, well-endowed, aristocratic lady in a pink dress (that would clash unbelievably with Rose’s own hair) look out from her portrait expectantly.  
  
            “Password?”  
  
            “Peppermint tonic,” replied a blonde sixth year promptly.  
  
            “Quite right, and welcome new Gryffindors!”  the Fat Lady replied with so much enthusiasm her wig teetered frighteningly.  
  
            “Mind you remember the password, now.  It’s what’ll get you into the Common Room,” the prefect who had supplied the password continued.  “If the password changes, or you have questions about finding your way around, find a prefect and ask.  We’re always happy to help new Gryffindors, and you can also talk to our Head of House, Professor Longbottom.  He’s a very approachable man and a personal friend of Harry Potter!”  Rose rolled her eyes.  Clearly these hero-worshippers had never seen her uncle trying to fight off one of Aunt Ginny’s Bat Bogey Hexes after coming home late from the pub with her father (not that Rose had either.  But she overheard her mother relaying the incident to Hannah Longbottom, and found it hard to take Uncle Harry quite as seriously since).  
  
            “Dorms are up these stairs, boys on left, girls on right.  There’ll be a sign with your year,” a girl prefect spoke up for the first time.  Everyone hesitated a bit, unsure if that was a dismissal, and then all at once rushed up the stairs to settle in and meet their new dorm mates.  
 

* * *

  
            Scorpius looked around the common room with great interest.  His father had described it in great detail after Scorpius received his Hogwarts letter, and Scorpius had paid close attention; his father rarely elaborated on any of his own experiences as school.  The lighting was slightly eerie, but overall there was a feeling of arcane grace.  Magical artifacts and portraits of great wizards were nestled in high alcoves, and the furniture dared anyone to disrespect it by building blanket forts upon it.  
  
            “Alright, firsties, listen up!  My name is Kitara Zabini,” the seventh year female prefect addressed them.  “I hope you are all aware that this is Slytherin House.  I’m sure anyone from a wizard family knows our reputation, and unless your parents were actually  _in_  Slytherin what you know is probably biased rubbish.  If your parents  _were_  in Slytherin it’s  _definitely_  biased rubbish.”  Her expression promised dire consequences for anyone who chose to argue.  “The fact of the matter is, we’re not our parents’ generation.  You’ll find all blood types here, and if we prefects hear even a hint about Dark Magic, anyone we suspect is getting their arse dragged straight to Professor Nott and Headmistress Sprout to explain.  Being in Slytherin is not an excuse to parade your parents’ bigoted little beliefs.”  
  
            “Catering to the bloody Gryffs,” muttered a fourth year who had clearly heard this speech before.  Kitara’s eyes flashed.  
  
            “Say that again, Montague,” she hissed, “We are catering to common human decency.  We are no longer the house of murderers and bigots, and anyone who chooses to tarnish our image by acting as though we are will be punished.”  Scorpius noted the existence of the two separate factions as the prefect calmed herself.  “That said, the other houses still hold a rather large grudge.  You will probably face taunts and pranks at the very least.  If you choose to retaliate, be smart about it.  For Merlin’s sake don’t get caught; we must be above reproach.  It falls to us to remind the rest of this school that Slytherin House is worthy of their respect, and we will do so without resorting to the petty fear tactics which are beneath us.”  Scorpius could pick out several skeptical faces, and not just among the older students.  Apparently Kitara could too, because her composure vanished.  “Bloody hell, if you can’t find a way to impress a bunch of teenagers without bullying and blackmailing them, you aren’t worthy to be in Slytherin!”  She turned on her heel and vanished into the girls’ dormitories.  Scorpius copied her with slightly less vehemence, pondering what she had said, and managed to be the first into the first year boys’ dorm.  He had changed into pyjamas and was reading Chapter 4 of  _A Beginner’s Guide to Defensive Magic_ when the rest of the boys came in.    
  
            “Hello then, I’m Chris Davies,” a tall boy said winningly.  
  
            “Scorpius Malfoy.” Scorpius copied his father’s trademark gracious nod.  
  
            “Stephen Montague.”  
  
            “Oi, was that your brother giving Zabini a hard time?” Davies threw out.  
  
            “Was that your mum who gave you your ugly face?”  Montague returned quickly. Davies flushed angrily, and Scorpius and the last unnamed boy simultaneously grabbed their two dorm mates and held them apart until they stopped trying to have a go at the other.  When they had released them, the other boy held out his hand.  
  
            “Clayton Walish.”  
  
            “Scorpius Malfoy.”  Scorpius shook the boy’s hand firmly.  
  
            “Oh, smashing,” Walish said, clearly relieved.  He had a slight Scottish drawl.  “I was afraid you lot would have some special way of shaking hands.  So much has been different already.”  Scorpius frowned, and saw his expression mirrored on the faces of Davies and Montague.  
  
            “You don’t sound foreign.  Why should you expect us to do things any differently?”  
  
            “I’m Muggleborn, of course.”  Scorpius’s jaw literally dropped, but Walish seemed unaware of his astonishment.  “Nearly everything in the wizarding world is different, you know.  Why you don’t even use pounds!  My mum had to go to the bank and exchange pound notes for these great gold coins, and the bank was run by  _goblins_.  So really, it’s quite reasonable of me to expect a different handshake.”  
  
            “Nope, same old handshake,” Scorpius finally managed.  Despite what the prefect had said about Slytherin no longer being the house obsessed with blood purity, he had not expected a development that so blatantly clashed with tradition.   _What would Grandfather Lucius say_ , Scorpius wondered dryly.  More than once he had overheard muttered rants of his grandfather’s whenever a Muggleborn was promoted in the Ministry, or a piece of Muggle-protection legislature was passed.  After this happened, his mother always pulled him aside and reminded him never to judge someone based on blood status because that’s the reason You-Know-Who was able to get so many supporters and keep the war going as long as it had.  These were very nearly the only occasions when Scorpius heard his parents discuss the war at all, and as such they were ingrained in his memory.   
  
            “Merlin, I guess Zabini had a point.  I mean, in my mum’s day they never even called them ‘muggleborns’,” Davies said, “If, er, you know what I mean.”    
  
            “Well, what did they call them?”  Of course the muggleborn himself wouldn’t know wizarding insults.  Scorpius exchanged looks with the other boys; nobody wanted to tackle this question.  Finally Montague spoke up.  
  
            “Well, back in our parents’ day there was this evil wizard, and he believed wizards who had muggle blood weren’t as good as purebloods.  And—er—he had a lot of followers,” Montague glanced at Scorpius as he said this.  “But anyway, they called muggleborns ‘Mudbloods’,” Scorpius noticed how easily the swearword rolled off Montague’s tongue, “’cause they though their blood was dirty, see?”  Walish looked more intrigued than offended.  
  
            “And he actually got people to follow him by saying that?”  
  
            “Well he was also super powerful and ruthless,” Davies rolled his eyes, “but yeah, blood purity was kind of his platform.  A bunch of the old families already thought that stuff, it just wasn’t the sort of thing you’d come out and say in public.  You-Know-Who, I dunno, validated their views.”  Scorpius received another glance.   
  
            "Y'know, they say his ghost still haunts the grounds, waiting to posess a powerful student," Montague laughed darkly.  
  
            "Come off it, he's dead.  Harry Potter killed him and the Ministry burned the body," Davies contradicted impatiently.  
  
            "They said he was dead the last time too though, didn't they?"  
  
            Davies snorted derisively. "There were witnesses, stupid."  
  
            "Mass memory charms aren't that hard!"  
  
            "Who cast it then?"  
  
            "There were enough of his supporters there.  Maybe they wanted to protect him while he got his strength back."  Davies rolled his eyes, clearly finding the conspiracy theory ridiculous, and Montague looked again to Scorpius, almost as if wanting agreement.  Suddenly uncomfortable with the conversation, Scorpius drew the curtains on his bed closed and resumed reading until the voices of the other boys fell silent, and he could fall asleep.  
  
            He was just dozing off when he realized that the fifth member of their dorm had never made an appearance.   


* * *

 

            Harry stood in the wood paneled kitchen and looked down at his wife, whom he knew had read the letter from Hogwarts over his shoulder.  
  
            “Are you disappointed?”  
  
            “Course not, are you?” she replied too fast.  Harry paused a moment before answering.  
  
            “No, I meant what I told him at the station.”  
  
            "You just didn't expect it to happen, did you?" Harry shook his head mutely.  Ginny stepped into him and he put his arms around her.  "This isn't some kind of failure--"  
  
            "Al hasn't failed anything--"  
  
            "That's not what I meant--"  
  
             "Sorry," Harry said heavily. "But... it's going to be hard for him, isn't it?  How many kids in there have relatives that I put in Azkaban?  Why would the Hat put him there in the first place?  He's a good kid, Gin."  
  
             "And you told him he wouldn't have to go there if he didn't want to.  But this isn't your fault, Harry.  It's  _not,"_ she repeated when he didn't reply.  "And it's been twenty years, Merlin help us, since we were in school-- a lot could have changed."  Harry smiled slightly at her determination to put a positive spin on the situation, and she brushed a kiss along his jaw.  He tilted his head down, and it was a few minutes before either spoke again.  
  
             "So does this mean you'll be cheering equally for Gryffindor and Slytherin's Quidditch teams?" Harry finally mumbled.  His wife punched his shoulder, and he laughed.  
  
            "You should write Al about this," Ginny said seriously, pulling far enough out of his embrace to lean against the counter.  "I'm sure he's worried that we're disappointed in him."  
  
             "Then you owl James to warn him of all the horrifying punishments awaiting him if he harasses Al."  
  
              "Fair enough, and I'll ask Neville to check up on Al too."  Harry nodded at this and left her rummaging for parchment while he went to collect their daughter for bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please please please review! You get a much bigger glimpse of characterizations in this one, so I'd love to know what you think!  
> (also I just adore the idea of Harry being the one to do bedtime. I have headcanons upon headcanons based on that little throwaway line)


	3. Broken Expectations

_Dear Al,_

_We miss you already (even Lily, whatever she says about liking being an only child).  Hopefully you’ll get this by morning, so no point in asking how classes are going.  Are you settling in alright?  Hogwarts was the best home I ever knew as a kid, and I’m sure you’ll love it as much as I did._

_Your Mum and I are so proud of you, and hearing the results of the Sorting changed nothing.  The Sorting Hat once told me that Slytherin could help me on my way to greatness; as far as I’m concerned this holds true for you even more so.  You’re going to be great, Al.  Your Mum points out that you’ve heard enough stories about Severus Snape, and you don’t need to hear another one, so I won’t bring him up.  I will say that we’d love and be proud of you even if the Sorting Hat declared you a Squib and they chucked you out of Hogwarts.  Seriously, Al.  Slytherin isn’t a bad place, and I know you’re a good person, so don’t let anyone (hint: your brother) make you think less of yourself for this.  We’ll see you at Christmas, but write soon (Lily would love a letter from Hogwarts!)_

_Your loving father,_

_Dad_

_P.S. Mum says she might even find it in herself to support the Slytherin Quidditch team, so clearly she’s handling your Sorting well!_

          Al closed his eyes and thanked Merlin.  His parents weren’t about to disown him!  Not that he’d _actually_ thought they would, but it was a lot easier to be confident about that once the possibility had been abolished.  His dorm mates who had opted to go to breakfast in time for the morning post looked curiously at him as he reread the letter, but none too judgmentally—they’d all gotten letters from home too.  Scorpius Malfoy had a rather large box of chocolates, and somewhat to Albus’s surprise, Malfoy actually seemed embarrassed by the fact once it became clear that no one else was getting packages.  Montague made loud, teasing comments about spoiled children, and Davies and Walish good-naturedly pestered Malfoy until he surrendered a few of the sweets to each of them.  It reminded Albus of the dynamic between his cousins, except for the fact that he was actually left alone.  It never took more than thirty seconds for Molly or Lily to berate him for lack of participation during family gatherings.  Realizing his oatmeal was growing cold, Al returned his attention to breakfast.  His focus was so complete that he failed to notice his Head of House’s approach until the man was at his shoulder.

          “Oh!  Professor—er, what can I do for you?” 

          “Your schedule,” Professor Nott handed the stated article to him with raised eyebrows.  Albus flushed and took it.  He perused it resignedly.  _Here I go, officially a Slytherin student._

         

* * *

 

          Rose looked excitedly over the schedule Nev—Professor Longbottom (she had to break the habit of calling him Neville) handed her.  Charms first, then double Defense Against the Dark Arts.  She didn’t have Herbology until Wednesday, and Potions wasn’t until _Friday_ , and Transfiguration and History of Magic were the only classes they had with Slytherin.  Disappointed with having to wait for the subjects she found most interesting and for the scant opportunity to see Al during the school day, Rose headed to Charms.  Gemma walked with her chatting incessantly, apparently having decided that she and Rose were going to be good friends.  Rose didn’t mind, especially considering that Harry was clearly irritated by the talkative girl, and Rose had not taken to him in the least.  Martin walked with them, though he was too quiet to have a hope of getting a word in edgewise, and Alice Longbottom, whom Rose had completely forgotten was in her year until she saw her in the dormitory last night.  Alice rarely seemed that noticeable next to her brother, Frank, who could be more than a little outgoing and overbearing, despite being the younger of the two. 

          Come to think of it, having outgoing and overbearing relatives was definitely something Rose could sympathize with.  Maybe she should try to get to know Alice a little more.

          Walking into Charms, Rose was surprised to see the tiny Professor Flitwick.  She would have thought he would have retired by now—after all, his contemporary, Professor McGonagall, had been retired for over ten years Rose knew.  She often listened in on her parents’ discussions of how the school had changed since their days.

          The lesson passed without incident—or the practicing of magic.  Disappointingly, the day was devoted to simple theory, all of which was understood by anyone who had read the introduction in _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1_.  That elite group appeared to consist of Rose.  And no one else.

          All in all, Rose was looking forward to Herbology and Potions much more. 

 

* * *

 

          Albus walked to Herbology alone; he had been the last to receive his schedule, and consequently the last to leave the Great Hall.  At the greenhouse he elected to remain solo, and set up his books at the last unoccupied station (well, there were a few incomplete groups of Hufflepuffs he could have joined instead, but Albus knew that was not a route to winning his housemates’ respect).  He watched the other boys from his dormitory chat easily until Professor Longbottom entered the greenhouse and called the class to order.

          “I know I’ve already welcomed you, but in case you were too nervous last night to remember me, I’m Professor Longbottom.  Welcome to Hogwarts, and my favorite place on the grounds, the greenhouses!” He smiled benignly over them all.  “This is, of course, Herbology in which we deal with the care and properties of magical plants; from Honking Daffodils to the Venomous Tentacula, depending on how long you continue in this class.”  Albus noticed that Neville was determinedly avoiding his eyes; suddenly Al remembered how much his godfather had wanted him to be in Gryffindor.  A cold little feeling crept into his chest.  Was Neville too ashamed of Al for being Sorted into Slytherin to even look at him?  The lesson passed without incident, but the cold feeling remained.

          The next morning the dormitory was empty when he woke.  Albus did his best to revel in the silence, which was still novel after life with his family, but a little voice somewhere in his head insisted that he didn’t actually find the quiet as pleasant as he would have liked.  Firmly ignoring the voice, Al dressed and headed down to breakfast. 

          Wednesday morning he woke up to a populated dorm room.  Walish prattled excitedly about the day’s classes (Defense Against the Dark Arts and Astronomy) and Davies was throwing socks at Montague for waking him up.  Albus almost laughed as Montague dropped the woolen projectiles in the loo, even though it was the sort of immature thing James would have found funny.  He collected his robes and toothbrush and headed to the bathroom to get ready for his day, still half-chuckling at the antics of the other boys.

          “Can I get in here?” Al asked Montague; the tanned boy was still blocking the doorway.  He looked at Al, apparently surprised to hear him speak.

          “Er, yeah.  Go ahead,” he stepped aside and gave Al a weird look.  As Albus closed the door, he heard Montague snicker, “Hey, boys! The great Potter actually talks!” Suddenly Al couldn’t remember why he had felt like laughing.

          Thursday Al set the magic alarm he had gotten from Uncle Percy when he turned eleven (only he could hear it going off) and made sure he was awake and out of the dorm before the other boys got up.

 

* * *

 

          “Alright, ladies and gents, quiet down there.  I’m Professor Lewis, and this is Potions,” the Head of Hufflepuff nodded affably at them all.  “Now, I’m sure you’re all tired of theory, so today we’re going to attempt to brew a potion.  Don’t worry if you’ve never done anything like this before, just follow the instructions and do your best.  The thing about potion brewing,” she turned to write instructions on the black board, “is that you just have to get your hands dirty and do it.  You can read up on the properties of ingredients all you want, but the actual art is delicate and subtle and takes more than knowledge.  And that folks, cannot be taught, it can only be learned.”  Leaving them with the somewhat contradictory piece of wisdom, Professor Lewis proceeded to give a quick background on the simple sleep draught they would be preparing, pointed out the location of the store cupboard, and reassured them that this was just for practice, and she did not expect perfect results from anyone.  _Challenge accepted_ , grinned Rose to herself.  She was just lighting the flame under her cauldron when she noticed Gemma hadn’t moved.

          “Gemma?  Is everything alright with you?”  Rose prompted.  The muggleborn girl turned horrified eyes to Rose.

          “I don’t even know what flobberworms _are_!  This is mental—how does she expect us to be able to do this on the first day of class?”

          “Don’t worry,” Rose reassured with confidence, “I’ll help you.”  Gemma still looked nervous, but her outright panic attack seemed to have abated.

          Forty minutes later, Rose was bitterly regretting her promise.  Much as she hated to admit it, she couldn’t even help herself, let alone anyone else.  Her potion was a dark maroon colour and she had no idea what she had done wrong that prevented it from being the “pristine blue” the instructions described.

          “Have you ever even brewed a potion before?” cried Gemma in exasperation.  Rose flushed, her complexion mirroring her hair.

          “Er, well, not exactly… that is, I haven’t _technically_ —but I’ve watched my Mum loads of times!” Rose defended herself.  What in Merlin’s name had she done to her potion?  It must have been some simple mistake, grabbing lemongrass instead of knotgrass?  It wasn’t as though she, Rose Weasley, would fail to grasp potion-making, the thing she had been looking forward to most of all the skills she would learn at Hogwarts.

          “I’m just going to ask Professor Lewis,” Gemma said exasperatedly swirling her fuchsia concoction.

          “No!” Rose insisted.  It was a matter of pride now; she would figure this potion out if it killed her.

          “Well, no offense, Rose, but your ‘help’ hasn’t actually been that helpful.”  Gemma jerked her head toward her potion pointedly.

          “Fine then.  Take the easy way out, see if I care!”  Rose knew she was letting her temper get the best of her, but she was too frustrated with the situation to care.  However, her retort was loud enough that other people were beginning to notice the argument.  Alice Longbottom looked from Rose to Gemma, made nervous by the confrontation.

          “I think I could help you,” she offered.  “If you just-- you stirred it too much before you added the knotgrass, so you can add a little more flobberworm mucus to dilute it a bit, and that should improve things.  It might not make it completely better but…” the round faced girl trailed off, clearly unsure if Rose was going to blow up at her.  Not that she didn’t think about it, but after seeing the immediate improvement to Gemma’s potion, Rose decided that this wasn’t the time for pride.  She could work on her reputation as an unparalleled potion maker later.  Class ended with Alice winning Gryffindor ten points for her pale blue concoction, which Professor Lewis decreed the best first attempt she had seen in over a decade.  Rose packed up her books with more violence than was likely required and rushed out of the room without waiting for Alice or Gemma.  They found her back at the dorm, arms tightly crossed, glaring at the wall.  Alice sat down beside her and gently said,

          “I’m sorry.”  All of Rose’s frustration dissipated suddenly, and she looked over at the timid blonde girl.

          “Whatever for?”

          “Well, I know how much you wanted to do well in Potions,” she replied earnestly.  “I truly wasn’t trying to show you up or anything.  Anyone can do poorly the first time they try something, and you’re just brilliant in all our other classes.  I’m sure you’ll be out-brewing me in no time.”  Rose looked at her incredulously.

          “Merlin, Alice, you should have been in Hufflepuff.”  Rose flopped back onto her bed.  “And I mean that in a good way.”  Alice smiled nervously, and Rose rolled her eyes and gave half a laugh.  “I really wasn’t mad at you, don’t worry.  I think I just got a little cocky after such an easy first week in all our other classes.  And I _had_ been looking forward to Potions.”  She giggled for real.  “Ah well, sometimes we all need to be taken down a notch.  I just can’t believe you felt like you owed me an apology!”  Alice giggled too, and they both shrieked when Gemma threw herself down behind them, shaking the bed worringly.

          “Yay we’re all friends again!”  Gemma crowed, making up for her uncharacteristically silent five minutes with ear shattering volume.  “See Alice, I told you there was nothing to worry about!”

 

* * *

 

          Scorpius liked windows.  When it became too cold to play on the grounds at home, windows were his escape from the manor house.  Malfoy Manor was awe inspiring, and Scorpius could wander around it for hours, knowing that the ancient dignity of the mansion was his legacy.  At the same time, it was large and lonely for an only child, and he often wished for a change.  He would curl up on a window sill (though lately he had been getting a bit big to do it comfortably) and look out of the great glass windows and imagine all the places he would go when he was older.  It was his least favorite thing about the Slytherin common room: that it didn’t have any windows, except the underwater ones that showed the lake.  A month into school, he had found a floor to ceiling window on the seventh floor facing east, and the brilliant view was more than worth the trek.  Every Saturday morning he woke up early and went to watch the sunrise.  At breakfast his roommates would tease him about his disappearance; Montague in particular thought it was hilarious to ask if he was sneaking off to a Death Eater meeting.  Scorpius did not deign to respond when the teasing deteriorated like that, he just clenched his jaw and continued to eat his breakfast.  _A Malfoy must always be the picture of dignity, no matter the rabble he may happen to be surrounded by,_ his grandmother’s voice reminded him. 

          “You’re just rabble,” he made the mistake of muttering audibly one day.  Walish snorted, and Davies laughed outright.

          “There’s the Malfoy arrogance making an appearance,” Montague cried, slapping Scorpius on the back.  “Rabble, eh?  His lordship does not seem to have noticed that there are three of us and one of him,” he stage whispered.

          “Shall we take him down a peg?” Davies suggested, still snickering.

          “Vive la Revolution!” Walish yelled, throwing himself at Scorpius.  Scorpius instinctively shoved the other boy onto the ground, where he screamed dramatically about aristocrats and guillotines, to everyone’s complete bemusement.  

          “Alright then, I can take you buggers any day,” Scorpius challenged the remaining rebels, who looked at their fallen comrade, then up at the staff table, where Professor Nott had left his seat and started to walk toward them.

          “Look this was just in fun, right?  How ‘bout we call a truce?” Montague suggested hastily.  Scorpius still felt his honor needed to be defended, but he didn’t particularly want a detention, so he agreed and gave Walish a hand.  By the time the Transfiguration Professor had reached the table, all four boys were eating quietly; he gave them a shrewd look, but did not stop to chastise them.  From then on, Scorpius’s official nickname was “his lordship”, and no matter what Montague said, it didn’t feel like it was entirely in fun.

          Scorpius found a downside to his (no one else seemed to use it, so he claimed it for his own) window: it was right down the hall from the Gryffindor common room.  This meant that if he wanted to read or observe the grounds at a time of day that wasn’t indecently early, he had a near constant stream of Gryffindor students to deal with.

          “What’s a bloody snake doing skulking outside the common room?”  Never mind that he wasn’t paying the least bit of attention to his surroundings; he was too engrossed in _An Introduction to Theoretical Transfiguration_ (a supplement to the assigned text that was simply fascinating, despite the simple topics addressed so far).

          “Probably looking to switch sides.” This comment elicited a lot of laughter, and made Scorpius unthinkingly clench his wand.  He simply couldn’t understand why people seemed to think less of his grandparents for switching sides.  Surely it was a good thing that they ceased fighting for You-Know-Who?  Severus Snape was considered a hero (albeit somewhat grudgingly) and he had done the same thing; as far as Scorpius could determine, the only difference was that Snape had done it a bit sooner.

          “Don’t waste your time, _Death Eater_ , we wouldn’t want you anyway.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this one's a little filler-y, I got distracted from plot by character development (but let me know how I did/what I can work on!!!)  
> I've got three more chapters left to post, they should be up imminently!


	4. One Step Back, Two Steps Forward

“Albus is so quiet, Rose.  You’re so different, I almost can’t understand why you’re friends!”  Rose looked up from the Charms essay she was proofreading.

“Where did that come from?”

“My bored mind.  I haven’t been concentrating on this darn essay for half an hour.”  Rose rolled her eyes.

“You’re not copying mine,” she warned.

“Shoot.  And I can’t ask Alice, not about Charms,” Gemma sighed, then rolled up her essay anyway.  “Oh well.  I’ll agonize over it tomorrow.”

“Speaking of friends having different personalities, you are the most easygoing person I’ve met, and Alice is the most understanding.  Neither of which are strong points for me, or so I’ve been told,” Rose pointed out.

“So you’ve been told, and so you’ll be reminded, I’m sure.”

“When I have a mental breakdown I’ll tell the psychiatrist my low self-esteem comes from the comments of my best friend.”

“If you want inspirational love yourself speeches you can go to Alice.  And I still want to what’s the deal with Albus.”

“We were basically raised together; I saw nearly as much of him as I did Hugo as a kid.  We often needed to unite against James, Al’s older brother, when he was being a prat.  Why do you even care?”  Gemma shrugged.

“He’s a Slytherin who never talks to anyone except you.  It’s borderline creepy.”

“Gem, that’s not fair.  He’s not like the rest of his house; I don’t even know how he ended up there.  And he’s always been quiet, but so has Alice,” Rose’s tone foreshadowed a passionate rant defending her cousin’s character.  Gemma backtracked.

“Okay, I believe you.  I was only curious.”

 

* * *

 

Albus walked to History of Magic alone, like he had every day for the past month and a half of school.  The prospect of seeing Rose—who would actually _talk_ to him—brightened his day, but he couldn’t miss the disapproval of his house mates as she ran to give him a hug.

“Al!  What have you been up to?” she asked with complete disregard for the distaste of the other Slytherins.

“Same as you, I suppose.  Lessons,” he mumbled.  “It’s only been like 30 hours since I last saw you.”

“Yeah and that’s practically a record.”  She was right; it was a rare day during their childhood in which they did not at least exchange multiple owls.  “You should come to the library with me and Alice after dinner, and we can study together.”  Albus was spared having to answer when the door opened, and everyone walked into the class and started preparing to take notes (Rose) or sleep (basically everyone else).  Despite the utter tedium of the lecture, the class period passed quickly.  Feeling like his insides had just been bathed in ice water, Albus hurried out of the classroom without waiting for Rose.  She caught up, looking a little hurt.

“You didn’t have to run off like that.  Are we good for studying after dinner?” Al just looked at the floor.  “Al, what is up with you?  Is there a reason you aren’t answering my question?” she prompted impatiently, hands on her hips.

“I don’t think that would be a very good idea,” he said quietly.  He hated himself a little bit for this, but what else could he do?

“And why in Merlin’s name not?”  She stopped walking and grabbed his arm, forcing him to face her.

“It’s just—Rose, I’m alone in my house.  Completely.  Nobody talks to me, I’m always the odd one out, and it’s because of my family.  Didn’t you see everyone’s faces before class?  They can’t understand why I’d want to hang out with a Gryffindor, it’s just driving us further apart,” he pleaded with her to understand.

“So what, one study session with your cousin will permanently ruin your reputation and they’ll all refuse to ever talk to you again?”  Rose did not sound particularly understanding. 

“Yeah, pretty much!  C’mon, it’s like if—if Malfoy had gotten Sorted into Gryffindor.  Nobody would exactly be welcoming him with open arms.  And if he went around with a bunch of Slytherins?  He’d get lynched!”

“I would have thought you were A, a better person than Malfoy, and B don’t care what a bunch of snakes think of you.” 

“You don’t understand!  You never have problems making friends, you’re Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley’s golden girl, you’ve never been the weird one out!”  Bitterness that Al didn’t even realize he had was spewing out.  “I’m not like that!”

“Sorry for believing that you were better than the rest of your slimy house!” she shot back.  “My mistake, it won’t happen again.  You choose appearances over family.  Got it.”  She turned on her heel and stormed off.  It was out of character for Rose to end an argument before she had screamed herself hoarse, and Al was taken aback by her sudden departure.  He leaned against the wall, and slid down until his forehead touched his knees.  _What did I just do?_   The guilt washed over him in waves; she was his best friend, how could he say that he didn’t want to be seen with her?  _You had a reason, though_ , he reminded himself.  _You can’t go through life with Rose as the only person who will talk to you._   Fifteen minutes later, after drying off his somehow wet cheeks, Albus walked back to the common room without dinner.

A week passed, and nobody acknowledged his presence any more than they had before.  Rose’s Gryffindor friends all glared at him whenever they met, but Rose herself never even looked at him.  Albus did everything in a constant haze of depression; twice in class, he completely missed the professor calling on him, and he remembered almost nothing from the lectures.  After Herbology, Professor Longbottom had even asked him to stay behind, although not to reprimand him.

“Al, I just want you to know, you can always feel free to come and talk to me if anything is bothering you.  I know I’m not your Head of House, but—“

“That’s okay, Professor,” Albus cut off his godfather. 

“Prof—Al, you can call me Neville when we’re not in class.  And our conversations would be in absolute confidence, you don’t have to worry about that,” Neville regarded him with kind eyes.

“Everything is hard enough right now, with my family being who they are and all.  I don’t really need to be seen getting close with the Head of Gryffindor,” Al replied dully.  “But thanks anyway.”

* * *

 

Thursday was Transfiguration.  Scorpius found the subject quite interesting, but up to this point the classes were a disappointment.  He had learned nothing so far from Professor Nott’s lectures on basic theory; McGonogall had covered it thoroughly in the first two chapters of _An Introduction to Theoretical Transfiguration_ , and Scorpius was eager to expand his knowledge.  Consequently he was quite excited when Professor Nott assigned them a new challenge.  They had done some amount of practical magic in Transfiguration, but today they weren’t just tackling simple matchstick-into-needle transformations.  Today the task was to transfigure a brick into a chocolate bar, which added a whole new dimension.

“You may begin your attempts now,” Professor Nott declared after having distributed the bricks.  Instead of diving headlong into the magic, waving his wand, and hoping for the best, Scorpius took a moment to recall the principles behind this variety of Transfiguration (he found it helped to have a good understanding of how and why the magic worked).  What he recalled from his reading made him grimace with confusion.  Food was the first of the Five Principle Exceptions to Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration. Professor Nott wasn’t just asking them to perform magic outside their comfort levels, he was asking them to perform magic that shouldn’t even be possible!  Knowing he had to be missing something, Scorpius looked around the room.  However, even the Weasley girl (who was not known for overthinking things, despite being the only student in the class whose abilities could rival his) was struggling.  The question was on the tip of his tongue— _Professor, what about the exception to Gamp’s Law?_ —but he knew Nott would be more impressed by Scorpius figuring out the solution on his own than simply identifying the problem.  So Scorpius considered it.  The rule was that food couldn’t be transfigured out of non-food… but there was nothing saying that food couldn’t be transfigured into non-food!  Knowing the answer was right there, Scorpius closed his eyes and concentrated.  So if the brick in front of him had originally been a chocolate bar, in order to make it a chocolate bar now, he wasn’t transfiguring it; he was de-transfiguring it.  Pleased with his rationale, Scorpius waved his wand, and the brick became a chocolate bar on his first try.

“Mister Malfoy, how impressive.” Professor Nott actually sounded impressed—more so than Scorpius had ever heard him sound.  Rose Weasley turned around at Nott’s words, and shocked jealousy was immediately painted on her face.

“How did you _do_ that?” she demanded.

“Gamp’s Law—you have to de-transfigure it.  It can’t become a chocolate bar unless it has already been one.  So you can’t go forwards, you have to reverse the process.  Er—did you follow that?” He was excited enough to share his discovery that his explanation had been rather garbled.

“You don’t have to condescend to me, Malfoy,” she snapped back at him.  “I’m as intelligent as you are.”

“I didn’t mean—that was just a quick explanation, and that level of theory is pretty advanced.”

“If my intellect were half the size of your ego, I could beat Merlin himself in a duel,” Weasley muttered before turning to her brick and transforming it into a bar of Honeydukes’ best.

“You could thank me for my help,” Scorpius told her, somewhat affronted by the ego comment.

“I didn’t ask for your help,” she retorted quickly.

“You did ask him how he had managed to do it, Rose,” the blonde girl sitting next to her said gently.

“Well that doesn’t give him the right to—“

“Alright, it seems that everyone has at least grasped the complexity of this problem, if not the solution,” Professor Nott cut her off.  “This task was meant to show that how one approaches the Transfiguration is as important, or more so, than the actual performance of the magic. In this case, it is very difficult to Transfigure a brick into a chocolate bar.  As you will learn as you advance, it is in fact impossible.”

“How’d Malfoy do it then?  I didn’t think the laws of magic could be bribed,” hissed a voice from the back of the room.  Scorpius stiffened.  “Unlike court officials.”  If Professor Nott heard, he ignored it.

“So if you can’t progress forward, what else can you try?  Mr. Malfoy?”

“You can try going backwards, sir,” he replied crisply.

“How far back would you have to go to make a decent Malfoy?” It was a different whisperer this time.

“Five points for Slytherin.  If you can’t force the object to take a new shape, try letting it revert to its original form.  You will learn other problem solving methods in this class, but—”

Professor Nott continued the lecture, but Scorpius couldn’t pay attention.  He couldn’t even hear it over the blood pounding in his ears.  How _dare_ they!  How dare they think they know anything about his family!  He could feel his breath quicken, but he sat perfectly still.  He knew he should calm down; it certainly wasn’t the first time he had faced taunts, and it likely wouldn’t be the last.  So he couldn’t scream at them, or worse, lose control of his magic and blow up their desks or something.  _Can’t let them get the satisfaction.  They’ll see what it means to be a Malfoy._

“Mister Malfoy, is there a problem?” Scorpius looked up at Professor Nott.

“Not at all, sir.”  Professor Nott cocked his head and examined him.

“Is there an explanation, then, for why you have not gone to lunch with the rest of your classmates?”  Scorpius looked around at this; apparently the lesson had ended without him noticing.

“Sorry Professor.  I was just lost in thought, I guess,” Scorpius gathered his things and walked to the door as quickly as he could to avoid prolonging the awkwardness.

“Your performance today was impressive, Malfoy.  I’ll remember that.” Professor Nott turned to his desk and pulled out a stack of essays.  Scorpius took that to mean he was dismissed.

Half-baked schemes to identify and take revenge on the unknown taunters whirled through Scorpius’s head as he passed trudged down the stairs to lunch.  He knew his conscious would step in before he actually enacted any of these plans, but they were gratifying to imagine.  Once again too caught up in his thoughts to pay attention to his surroundings, Scorpius ran directly into the first of a group of Ravenclaw third years right in front of the little patch of swamp that graced the second floor corridor.

“Oi, watch where you’re going, you bloody firstie!”

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t see you.” The Ravenclaw was not mollified by the apology.

“Hey, you’re that Malfoy brat, aren’t you?”  called another.  Scorpius confirmed the fact with a nod. 

“I bet you’re excited for Halloween, then.” Having no idea where this comment was meant to go, Scorpius remained silent.

“Why d’you say that, Smith?” asked the first boy, momentarily distracted from glaring at Scorpius.

“Well, putting on masks, running around to terrorize people—it’ll be just like old times for the Malfoys, won’t it?” The whole group snickered, and Scorpius felt as though he had just walked through a ghost.  “What, is that too scary for you?  You better man up, little baby Death Eater.”

“I am not a Death Eater.”  Why didn’t anyone in this bloody school understand that?  Scorpius knew he was seconds from either screaming or crying, so he turned on his heel and walked quickly away from the older boys.

“That’s right, run away.  Just like your coward of a dad!” they called after him.  If Scorpius had looked back, he would have seen the swamp suddenly splatter the entire group as though a large stone had been dropped into it.  Instead, he turned down another corridor and collapsed inside the first empty classroom.  Tears ran down his face, from both frustration and hurt, but they did so noiselessly.  That was both unlucky and extremely fortunate, because if the small dark haired boy who next entered the room had even dreamed there was another person crying inside, he wouldn’t have even opened the door.

As it was, Albus Potter stood on the threshold, shocked and clueless as to how he should proceed.

“Oh bloody hell,” gulped Scorpius.  He hastily mopped his eyes.  “What do you want then?”

“Er—I was just going to eat lunch in here.  It’s usually empty…” Potter trailed off.

“Well it’s not empty now.”

“I can see that.” Despite the palpable awkwardness of the situation, Potter’s sarcasm shone through.  Scorpius straightened himself and did his best to appear as though he had not been crying thirty seconds earlier.  He may have every reason to feel ashamed, but Merlin take him if he was going to act like it.

“Well?” Scorpius broke the silence.

“Is… everything okay?” Potter avoided eye contact.

“Everything is fine.” The manners Grandmama Greengrass had drilled into him kicked in.  “Thank you for asking.”

“I just wondered—I mean you don’t have to tell me.  If it was what Rose said after lessons today, I’m pretty sure she was just mad that she didn’t figure it out first.”

“I didn’t hear her, but I’m sure it was another lovely comment about how my family is the incarnation of pure evil.”

“Whad’ya mean ‘another’?  I don’t remember hearing Rose say anything about you before.  Not that, well… we haven’t talked recently.” Scorpius almost didn’t hear the last bit, but he didn’t much care either.

“I didn’t mean your cousin.  I meant everyone else in this bloody school!”  He glared at the wall.

          “What do they say?”

          “That my family are all Death Eaters.  That my dad’s a coward and should be in Azkaban.”

          “Are they right?”

          “Of course they’re not bloody right!”  Scorpius cried.  He would’ve continued to shout, but Potter just looked at him seriously, no glint of teasing in his eye.  “I mean, I know Grandfather Lucius was.  But he did his time in Azkaban.  My parents tell me all the time that the war was a mistake and that blood purity isn’t worth dying for.”

          “Yeah, but do they think it’s worth killing for?  There’s a difference.”

          “They—of course they don’t!  Same difference anyway.” Albus didn’t reply.  Out of spite Scorpius asked, “Why’re you eating lunch alone anyway?”

          “I’m not exactly welcome in Slytherin, if you haven’t noticed.  It’s less awkward for everyone if I avoid the house table.” The words were matter-of-fact, but his tone betrayed his unhappiness.

          “Can’t you just eat with your cousins?  There are enough of them.”

          “And alienate myself even more?  Are you kidding?”  Albus sighed.  “And anyway, everyone in the other houses pities me at best and thinks I’m a traitor to my family at worst.”

          “What an optimistic outlook you have.”

          “Thanks.  I’m glad somebody cares.” Albus matched Scorpius’s sarcasm.  An awkward silence followed.  Both boys sat and avoided each other’s gaze.

          “How do you handle the people who insult your family?”  Albus finally broke the silence.

          “Well just then I started crying and ran away, as you saw,” Scorpius said edgily.  Albus shook his head.

          “No, I mean… what are you going to do to get back at them?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied at the end of the last chapter; there's four more to come after this one
> 
> (Also the Lily/Severus parallels to Rose/Albus that are sort of present in the first scene here were not premeditated, but how does everyone feel about them? I'm not sure if it's the angle I want to go for...)


	5. Enter a Friend (or something)

 

          The first Quidditch match was the day before Halloween, and it was colder than October had any right to be, in Rose’s opinion.  She ended up having to charm her hair so it would stay in its ponytail and stop blowing in her face, and she was suddenly very thankful for Nana Weasley’s warm knitting (even if her sweater was maroon).  She wasn’t about to miss the match, though.  Alice had opted to stay inside the warm castle and play with her kitten, but Gemma was even more eager than Rose to see the flying sport.  The muggleborn girl had taken to flying with more enthusiasm than skill, but Coach Smith said she showed promise, and Gemma had become determined to make the house team next year.  Martin tagged along with them, as he usually did, and the three found seats behind a group of older students.  The match was against Slytherin, so Gryffindor turned out in force despite the weather, and jeers were already being shouted across the pitch. 

          “Is the team any good this year?” Gemma demanded of no one in particular.

          “I dunno,” Rose replied absent-mindedly.  She caught herself scanning the Slytherin stands for Al’s dark head, and turned deliberately to her curious friend.  “James only made reserve Seeker, and he’s excellent to hear him tell it.  So I’d imagine they’re not lacking for talent.”

          “A good Seeker doesn’t mean a good team,” interjected Martin.  “What you look for in a Seeker is completely different than what you want in a Keeper, or a Beater.”

          “I’d like to be a Chaser, I think.  Always in the thick of things.”

          “Gem, you’ve never even seen a game of Quidditch before.”

          “Neither had Harry Potter and he was the best Seeker Gryffindor had in a century!”

          “What position do you play, Rose?” Martin hastily tried to diffuse the conversation.

          “I’m a Beater.  I’d like to Seek, but James and Lily are always the Seekers when we play family pick up matches, and that’s the only time I play,” Rose obliged him with an answer.  She and Gemma argued twice a day and forgot their spats half a minute after they ended, but Alice and Martin insisted on playing the futile position of peacemakers. 

          “I play Beater myself,” Martin returned brightly.  “We should practice together sometime.”

          “Mmmh,” Rose avoided answering.  She enjoyed Quidditch as a pastime, but didn’t fancy the idea of committing enough time to it to make the House team.  Martin dropped the issue as the two teams flew onto the pitch below.

          It was a close game and, unsurprisingly for Slytherin, a dirty one.  Rose soon found she was screaming at the players with the best of them.

          “Come on, the Quaffle went right over your head!”

          “That was a foul!  A bloody FOUL!”

          “Watch out, watch out!  There’s a Bludger right—ooooh”

          The last comment was accompanied by a loud crack, and the Gryffindor Keeper was flown down to the ground by two of her teammates before she could pass out.  Coach Smith blew his whistle to signify a time out and landed beside the injured girl as Madame Clearwater bustled down from the stands.  The Seekers, meanwhile, continued to circle and scan the skies for the Snitch.  Suddenly, Rose saw a scarlet blur diving for the ground, and too far behind, a silver-and-green pursuer.  A second later, the Gryffindor Seeker rose triumphantly, fist in the air.

          “SPINNET-JONES CATCHES THE SNITCH FOR GRYFFINDOR!” screamed the commentator. 

          “During a time-out, though, d’you think they’ll count it?”  Martin grimaced.  Indeed, the Slytherin captain had landed and was clearly appealing to Coach Smith, and Professor Nott was making his way down to the field.  Rose bit her lip.

          “I know I’ve read about situations like this.” She screwed up her eyes. “In that _Flying with the Cannons_ book Dad has?  Or was it Aunt Ginny’s column?  Something about how Seekers can be exempt from time-outs unless both captains agree to have them land…”  One of the boys sitting in the row below turned around.

          “Oi, do you know the League policy for a catch like this?” he asked Rose excitedly.

          “Er, yes, I think I do.”

          “Well get down there before the bloody snakes convince Smith that catch wasn’t legit!” he urged.  When Rose didn’t move, he vaulted over the back of his seat and grabbed her hand.  “Let’s go, then.”  He nearly dragged her down to the pitch where the two captains were still arguing heatedly, their Heads of House conferring with the referee.  “Longbottom’s not going to be any help,” the boy puffed.  “Means well, but I dunno if the man’s ever even been on a broom.”  He stopped talking as they reached the teachers.

          “Finnegan, is everything alright?” Neville caught sight of his approaching students.

          “Yes, Professor, it’s just that, er—“ he broke off and looked at Rose embarrassedly.

          “Rose,” she supplied.

          “Yeah, Rose here has read about the official standing for situations like this.”

          “What makes you think I don’t have the same level of expertise as a first-year, Mister Finnegan?” Coach Smith replied aggressively.

          “Now, now, Zacharias,” Professor Nott stepped in.  “I’m sure these students simply wanted to ensure we had all possible information before a decision was reached.”  This startled Rose; she wouldn’t have expected the Head of Slytherin to be so willing to hear her out.

          “Alright then, Rose, what’ve you read?”  Neville prompted her.

          “Well, in 2010 the Cannons played the Harpies and the Cannons’ captain was injured by a Bludger badly enough that the referee called a timeout to allow mediwizards to attend to him,” Rose said slowly, reciting details as they came to her.  “The Seekers remained in the air, and neither Captain requested that they land.  Before the rest of the teams resumed play, the Harpies’ Seeker caught the Snitch and I _know_ it was ruled a legitimate catch because that was the Cannons’ 100 th straight loss and my dad told me I was never to speak of it.”  She looked at Neville and grinned.  “He’d probably be okay with this exception, though.”  Neville chuckled lightly.

          “Yes, although I’d be surprised if Ginny ever gave him a chance to forget it.”

          “Miss Weasley, do you have any way of corroborating your anecdote?” Professor Nott stepped in before Neville could say anything else.  Rose blanched.  It hadn’t occurred to her that she wouldn’t be believed.

          “I’m sure the _Prophet_ would have had an account of the match,” she began.

          “Yeah, you could check the library’s archives,” the boy—Finnegan—interjected.

          “Unless Miss Weasley can remember the exact date, you’re going to have a remarkable number of papers to check,” pointed out Nott. 

          “That seems unlikely,” jumped in Coach Smith.  “You can’t have been more than five when that match took place.”  Rose looked at Neville, furious that she was being doubted, but knowing there was little she could do about it.  Their concerns were valid; she had no actual memory of the game, just of Aunt Ginny’s retellings.

          “I’m afraid it wouldn’t be quite fair to accept one student’s account if there is no way to back it up,” Neville said gently.  “It’s not a question of your trustworthiness, but if a Slytherin student came to us with an example of an instance where that kind of catch was ruled illegal, you wouldn’t want us to blindly accept their story, would you?”  It was on the tip of Rose’s tongue to declare that _she_ wasn’t some lying, cheating snake, so it was different, but she had enough sense to realize that that would do nothing to help the situation.  She might have done it anyway, but just then Victoire ran up with Teddy in tow.

          “Rose, what are you doing?” Her beautiful cousin was still in her chaser gear, but had apparently had time to _rendezvous_ with Teddy even in the few minutes since the catch.  Teddy waved cheerily at her.

          “I remembered a situation like this where the catch was ruled fair, so he—“ she pointed at Finnegan “—brought me down to explain to Coach Smith.”  Victoire frowned.

          “What match was it?”

          “The Harpies/Cannons one where the Cannons got their 100th loss.”

          “Oh, I remember that match!  Hell, I was there,” Teddy exclaimed suddenly.  “Ron and Harry took me for my fourteenth birthday.” Rose felt a surge of hope.  “Hey, Neville!  Er, Professor Longbottom,” he corrected himself.

          “Teddy, do you have something to add?”  The three adults turned to hear Teddy’s answer.

          “Yeah, I was at the Cannons game when they had a catch like this.  It was ruled fair.”  Coach Smith nodded thoughtfully.

          “You were a Hufflepuff boy, weren’t you Lupin?”

          “Hufflepuff individual, yeah,” Teddy corrected mildly. 

          “Well, I’m content with having two sources, I suppose,” Smith relented.  “Unless you gentlemen object?” Neville waved his hand, and after a moment Professor Nott gave an acquiescent nod.  Finnegan jumped into the air and whooped, and a hundred Gryffindors soon joined in when the commentator announced that the match officially went to Gryffindor, 180-40.

          “Cheers, Ted!” Rose grinned.  Teddy ruffled her hair.

          “Anytime kiddo.” She was buffeted to the side as teams and fans stormed the pitch, and Teddy turned aside to catch up with their old professors.  She heard Professor Nott ask if Teddy still used they/them pronouns, and then she was out of earshot.

          “Rose, right?” Finnegan was next to her again.  “There’s a party in the common room, c’mon!”

          They made their way up to Gryffindor tower, chatting about the game.

          “It’s brill, though, we haven’t beat Slytherin since I’ve been here, and last year they took the Cup,” he laughed.  “But I guess we showed ‘em today!”  Rose laughed too.

          “What year are you, anyway?”

          “Oh, fourth.  Sorry, I never properly introduced myself, did I?” He held out his hand.  “Pat Finnegan.” She shook it.  They arrived at the portrait hole then, and he rejoined his friends by the snack table.  He clapped one of the Beaters on the back, and someone said something that made him throw back his head and laugh.  Rose didn’t notice she was still staring at him until Alice appeared at her shoulder and asked what she was looking at.

          “Nothing,” she told her friend hastily.

 

* * *

 

Scorpius methodically shredded the piece of parchment that contained his latest unusable idea, taking a rather savage pleasure in seeing it tear down into confetti.  Albus just sat cross-legged on his bed and stared into space.  They were having a brainstorming session for their revenge prank, and it was going about as well as Quidditch without brooms.  Albus claimed to have extensive experience with pranking, but Scorpius certainly didn’t, and it was a tricky situation to begin with.  First off, they didn’t know exactly whom they were pranking—just that some Gryffindor first years were involved.  Secondly, the only time they could count on coming into contact with their targets was during lessons, a time when it would be hard to execute anything large scale without being noticed.  During the Quidditch match would have been an ideal time, especially because suspicion would have been shifted to older students who were more part of the team rivalry, but they didn’t think of it soon enough, and neither could do powerful enough magic to affect people across a Quidditch pitch anyhow.

“I think… our best bet would be a potion,” Albus said slowly.  Scorpius tried not to role his eyes.  An hour of contemplation, and that single statement was the sum total of their accomplishments.

“Yeah?” he prompted half-heartedly.

“Yeah.  We don’t have the wand skills for any tricky charms or jinxes, and any Muggle style pranks take too much time to set up and don’t have any good lasting effects.”

“Granted, but how are we administering the potion?  Spiking the pumpkin juice at dinner?  There’s a lot that could go wrong there.”  Albus nodded thoughtfully, but didn’t reply.  After twenty more minutes of the same lack of inspiration he experienced in the first hour, Scorpius announced that he was going to dinner.  Albus trailed after him.

They sat together at the House table, as they had done since that pivotal lunch period five days previously, but little conversation passed between them.  Scorpius gazed down the benches, noting that there was a split within the house; a Slytherin was either boisterous and charismatic, or a wallflower, and there seemed to be little in between.  It made sense, he supposed when one looked at the typical occupations of Slytherin alums—leaders and politicians on the one hand, fearsome investigators and lawyers on the other.  Some gathered people around themselves to furnish power, some gathered information.  Maybe that’s why half his parents’ dinner guests seemed to be allies more than friends.  He wondered if Albus was anything more than an ally to him.  Their relationship was based entirely on working together to achieve a common end, but then again, Scorpius wasn’t exactly sure how to define friendship.  Before Hogwarts, he hardly ever spent time with anyone his own age (with the exception of his cousins on holidays). 

Out of nowhere, a walnut charmed yellow landed in the minestrone, splattering half the table.

“Looks like Zabini still isn’t fast enough to catch a Snitch!” crowed a nearby Gryffindor.  The Slytherin Seeker strode over to them, heavy braids swinging murderously behind her.

“20 points from Gryffindor, Dominique,” she snapped.  “For destruction of property and harassment.” She indicated the students who, like Scorpius, were trying to blot vegetable broth off their robes.  He glanced up for a moment, and saw the two girls glaring so intensely at each other that he half expected them to burst into flames.  Dominique’s friends had started protesting, and the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team had assembled behind Kitara, and were shouting back.  Several professors at the Head Table were starting to look up, but before they could get there the Head Boy started wading through the throng, shouting ineffectually to break it up.  Dominique hissed something Scorpius couldn’t hear, and Kitara’s wand was in her hand.  She shrieked wordlessly, and Dominique was hanging upside down by her ankle.

“Miss Zabini!” Professor Nott’s voice cracked through like a whip.  Following him closely were Professors Longbottom and Sprout.  “What is the meaning of this?”  Despite the respect Scorpius had for the Transfiguration teacher, he had not imagined that the tall, thin man could have such terrifying fury.  He thanked Merlin several times that he was not involved in this incident.  Kitara let Dominique down without ceremony or warning, and managed to regain a modicum of composure before turning to face her Head of House.

“Miss Weasley and her friends here disrupted our peaceful meal, targeted several innocent students,” she again indicated the victims of the soup, “and delivered several personal insults.  I am afraid,” she paused, “I may have lost my temper.”  Scorpius noticed how she managed to seem cool-headed and commanding, even though she had just been in a near-brawl.  He also noticed, and apparently the Gryffindors did too, how she failed to sound contrite. 

“She docked points before even checking if we were the ones that threw the walnut at them!” bawled a freckly twig of a boy, apparently not realizing this confirmed his guilt.

“Mister Finnegan, now is not the time,” reprimanded the Herbology Professor.  “You five, to my office.  Unless you feel further interrogation is necessary, Theodore?”

“No, I believe I am informed enough to address the situation.  Zabini, come with me.” The Heads left with their respective students, and the Slytherins who had jumped to Kitara’s defense joined in the outraged mutters hissing along the table.  There was no shortage of glares being directed across the hall, and if dinner hadn’t ended soon after, Scorpius would have believed that the tension would have dissolved into a fight once again.  The Gryffindors looked no happier than they.

That evening in the common room, the Slytherins continued to express their displeasure; many had groups gathered around themselves and phrases such as “this will not be ignored” and “when I’m Head Boy, the Gryffs are going to have another thing coming to ‘em” rang out occasionally.  He and Albus sat in silence writing Charms essays, but as they rolled up the parchment and prepared to retire, Scorpius muttered,

“I think our target group may have expanded.”  The smaller boy looked him in the eye and nodded.

However, by Wednesday, the two realized that deciding to just target the Gryffindors as a whole wasn’t that huge a step forward.  It simplified some things, but “prank their common room with a potion” was not a very definite plan.  Moreover, the teachers seemed determined to cram in as much information as possible during the holiday-less expanse between Halloween and Christmas; classes were starting to become almost challenging, and Scorpius had to quickly adjust from already knowing what they were learning to spending large chunks of time researching essays in the library.  It was _possible_ his essays were a bit longer than necessary (he didn’t think Professor Binns had even read the last foot he had written on giant wars), but that was really beside the point.  His academic aptitude shouldn’t have to interfere with his budding tactical genius.

 

* * *

 

 _Revenge is a dish best served cold_ , Albus consoled himself with the Muggle idiom.  He knew how to be patient when plotting, but it was never fun, and there was a lot riding on this prank: the continuation of the tentative friendship he had built with Scorpius, pride, and the respect of their house.  If they could pull this off—put Gryffindor in their place—they would be heroes of Slytherin.  There wasn’t a member of their house who hadn’t endured snide comments, if not outright bullying, from their rivals.  Albus could just imagine the honor and acceptance their prank would win them.  Last names would be forgotten, and he might finally belong.  Part of him was ashamed at the naivety of such a fancy, but as the tension between the two houses failed to relax, it didn’t seem very far outside the realm of possibility after all.  If only they could dream up a prank.

“Don’t much fancy going to Herbology in that,” Davies commented to Montague over breakfast.  Albus agreed, though he didn’t say so; the ceiling showed a depressing expanse of gray, freezing drizzle.  The view was interrupted by the morning post.  His owl, Gonçalo, had only a short note from Hagrid inviting him to tea, but Scorpius received his semi-regular hamper of sweets.  The blond boy pet his barn owl dutifully and regarded the confections with slight exasperation.

“What, don’t my parents think Hogwarts feeds me?” he muttered to Albus.

“If you’re not going to eat those, can I have some?” A short girl with a long ponytail interrupted Al’s answering shrug.  Without waiting for an answer, she established herself on the empty bit of bench between the two boys who exchanged nonplussed looks.  Albus recognized the girl from classes, but couldn’t remember her name.

“Er—help yourself.”  Scorpius held the chocolates out to her.  As she took one, he added “Didn’t your Mum ever tell you not to ruin your appetite, eating chocolate before a meal?”

“I don’t have a Mum,” the girl replied in a short voice.  As Scorpius stumbled through an apology (something he probably wasn’t used to, Albus imagined), Al watched the girl.

“Do you have a name?” he ventured.  Al had seen the slight quirk of her lips in response to Scorpius’s discomfort, and knowing she was a Slytherin, he found it entirely plausible that she was intentionally playing mind games with them.

“Maya Bletchley.”  She regarded him with a raised eyebrow.  “Most people become uncomfortable and awkward for much longer when I tell them my Mum’s dead.”  She seemed much less affected by that fact now than she had when she first mentioned it, confirming Albus’s suspicions.  Scorpius, too, had apparently caught up.

“So what, you just go around trying to make people uncomfortable?” he demanded.  “That’s a great way to make friends, I suppose.”

“Not particularly, but making people uneasy is an excellent way to get them to agree to things.  They feel so guilty for bringing up memories of my poor, dead Mum that they’ll agree to a lot if I imply it will make me feel better,” Maya replied bluntly. “Though I suppose it was unnecessary in this case, seeing as how you gave me the chocolates before I said anything about my Mum.”  Albus didn’t know how to respond to this, and it seemed Scorpius was at a similar loss.  What kind of person takes advantage of dead parents to manipulate others?  He hated the idea of it, but Maya was so up front and unashamed that he found himself slightly fascinated by the girl herself.  She helped herself to another of Scorpius’s candies and made small-talk with them about classes as though there was not a palpable level of awkwardness in the air. 

She continued to tagalong behind them as they trod down to the greenhouses, heads ducked against the cold, and they still hadn’t shaken her by lunch.  Her sudden interest in them mystified Al, and he was beginning to wonder why he hadn’t taken more notice of her before, what with her constant chatter.

“I think it’s somebody else’s turn to ask questions,” Scorpius finally answered Maya pointedly.  The girl cocked her head.

“Okay.  What do you want to ask?”

“No offense, but why are you talking to us all of a sudden?” Al responded after a moment.  Her dark eyes narrowed a bit at that, as though she was sizing him up.  Before she replied, she swung her head around to check for eavesdroppers.

“You two are planning something.  I want to know what.”

“What makes you say that?” Albus composed his best poker face.  Those interminable card games with Dad’s muggle cousins wouldn’t go to waste.  Scorpius, bereft of this valuable experience, bit his lip and drew his eyebrows together.

“You two only ever talk to each other, and it’s always very secretive and suspicious.  Also, word on the street says both of you have questionable allegiances.  If something is going to go down, I want to know ahead of time.”  Her eyes gleamed, but her tone was not accusatory.

“I am _not_ a traitor,” snapped Scorpius haughtily.

“And I have nothing to confess,” Albus added.  Maya nodded thoughtfully.

“In that case, I’m world famous reporter Rita Skeeter.”  With that, she left the table.  Scorpius looked after her as she strode out of the Great Hall.

“What are we supposed to make of that?”

“Hell if I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... what do you guys think of Maya? Do the Gryffs deserve to be pranked?  
> (I know the next chapter is up, but pretend you're in suspense. Please? For me?)


	6. All's Fair in Love and War?

Scorpius trod with Albus through the freezing rain as the two made their way to Hagrid’s.  He was beginning to regret agreeing to make the visit; Hagrid, although very friendly, was not likely to provide them with sufficiently warm (and edible) food to make up for this trek.  In the few short minutes they were outside, Scorpius’s light hair had become plastered to his scalp, and he was shivering violently.

“We need—to learn—a drying charm,” he forced through his chattering teeth.  Albus nodded emphatically beside him.

At the door they were greeted by Crusher, the largest Rottweiler Scorpius had ever met.  Also the most slobbery, and perhaps the stupidest.  Albus petted the dog as Scorpius hurried into the warmth, doing his best to keep his robes free of drool and hair.  He looked up to greet Hagrid, and stopped in his tracks.

“What’re you doing here, Weasley?”  There was certainly no mistaking that mane of ginger hair.  Albus straightened up and froze, staring at the girl at the table.

“Rose nipped in for tea, same as yeh two,” grunted Hagrid after a moment passed.  Scorpius glanced at Albus, who still hadn’t shown any reaction beyond slight alarm, then at Rose, who glared challengingly at them both.  “Er… can I get yeh a cuppa then?” the big man continued when no one else stepped up to break the tension.  Scorpius didn’t know what exactly had gone down between the cousins, but whatever it was clearly had not left them on good terms.  Hagrid handed him a mug of tea.

“I see you managed to pick up a friend.” 

Scorpius looked incredulously to Weasley.  She was often brash and over-confident, but he had never heard her say anything that snotty.  _Must be a side she only shows outside of class_.

“Yeah, well… maybe you should learn to pick up a hairbrush,” Albus muttered.  Rose flushed a deeper shade of red than that of her offended locks.

 “Hark who’s talking!”

Scorpius supposed he was supposed to be on Albus’s side of this argument simply by default, but Weasley _did_ have a point about his roommate’s wild mop of hair.

Albus apparently thought so too.  “I—not what—that’s not the point!” he stammered.  Weasley had already broken her straight face, though, and was starting to giggle.  Albus maintained his bravado for a few moments longer, then succumbed as well.  Hagrid exchanged a glance with Scorpius, as if to confirm the confrontation was over, then offered them all some sickly looking gingersnaps.

Scorpius didn’t know how close the cousins had been before their fallout, but the animation with which they conversed and filled each other in caught him by surprise.  Albus’s natural reserve fell away completely, and it became clear that the two were more than accustomed to telling each other everything.

“—and Alice, Alice Longbottom, that is, was just telling me—“

“Wait, you’re friends with Alice?  I thought she was a year below us.”

“I know, Frank always seems the older.”

“But what was it she told you?”

“Oh, apparently Neville once dated your mum!”

“ _What_?”

“Yeah they went to the Yule Ball together, although Neville said they were just mates when I asked him.”

“Rose, you actually asked him about it?”

“Yeah, why not? We were at the greenhouses for Herbology anyway.” Albus wrinkled his nose.

“That’s weird that her dad’s her professor.”

“He’s _your_ godfather.”

“Yeah but that’s different.  Imagine if one of our dad’s taught Defense.”  Rose gave a slight shudder. 

“Okay, point taken.”

“Yer dad would’a made a bang-up professor,” Hagrid interjected.  “He taught half the school Defense the year after You-Know-Who came back.”  This appeared to be news to Albus, though he didn’t look taken aback.

“I don’t know, ‘Professor Potter’ might be fun, Al.”

“You just know he’d favor you.”

“Yeah, but he wouldn’t let James get away with anything.”  Albus smiled at that, and Scorpius felt a strange flash of envy in his chest.  He only saw his cousins at Christmas and on the occasional birthday, and he couldn’t remember ever enjoying a conversation with them.  And though he thought he could consider Albus a friend, it was obvious that their relationship had none of the ease he saw before him.  After another thirty minutes, in which he was silent except for the occasional refusal of Hagrid’s rock cakes, Scorpius broke into the conversation.

“I imagine it’s nearly time for dinner.”  He tried to mask his impatience, but Hagrid’s cabin suddenly felt unbearably claustrophobic.  Scorpius was halfway out of his seat before he realized no one else had moved.  “Er, Albus?”

The dark haired boy glanced quickly at his watch, then to Rose.  “Yeah, I suppose we should be headed back,” he said with some reluctance.

Rose announced that she was going to stay a minute longer to chat with Hagrid about the merpeople (for what reason Scorpius couldn’t fathom, but he was glad enough to walk back without her).  Mercifully, the rain had ceased.

“So, have you had any brilliant inspiration for Operation Venom?” Scorpius broke the silence after a minute.  Albus’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“What’s ‘Operation Venom’?”

“The _prank_ , y’know.”  Albus raised his eyebrows.  “In the stories the plans always have codenames!” Scorpius defended himself.  Albus smirked.

“Why ‘Venom’?”

“Slytherin.  Snakes.  Snakes are venomous.  We’re using our venom to poison the malicious nature of our enemies?”  Albus was clearly struggling to maintain a straight face.  “Oh come on, like you could do better?”

“I think _James_ could do better, and no one’s ever been impressed by his wit.”  Scorpius glowered, but only for a moment.

“Hey—speaking of your family—Rose can get us in!”  Scorpius said excitedly as the idea came to him.

“What do you mean?”

“Well she’s in Gryffindor, obviously she knows the password.  It shouldn’t be too hard to get it out of her somehow,” Scorpius steamrolled over Albus’s hesitation.

“That’s… I’ve never taken advantage of Rose like that.”

It was Scorpius’s turn to ask, “What do you mean?”

“We’re asking her to betray her own house for the sake of a dumb prank.  It’s not very fair.”

“Alright, wait.  When did our prank become _dumb_?  For that matter, when did _I_ become dumb?  We’re not going to ask her the password straight out,” Scorpius replied with some heat.

“And _that’s_ not taking advantage?”

“Well what do you suggest?  You’re the supposed mastermind.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say!  Rose would see through anything we tried.”

Scorpius couldn’t help but roll his eyes at that.  “Please.  You and I could outmaneuver Weasley any day.  She’s smart, but she’s got as much cunning as a gnome.”  The stubborn set of Albus’s jaw told Scorpius he was unconvinced.  “I’m beginning to wonder where your loyalties lie, Potter!”

“ _What?_ ”

“You heard me.”  Scorpius’s voice was icy calm in his best imitation of his father’s imperious disapproval.  “What happened to bringing glory to our house, and revenging ourselves upon those who’ve wronged us?”

“That’s a pretty large burden to place on your poor little prank’s shoulders,” rang out a mocking female voice.  “You’re going to give it a nervous breakdown before it ever reaches its full potential.” 

Scorpius turned in tandem with Albus to find the same girl who had ambushed them yesterday at breakfast.  Her shiny black hair was in two ponytails today which, combined with her height and chubby build, made her appear as though she was about six.  The glint of her eyes said otherwise.

“If we can chill with the delusions of grandeur, though, I’d still like in,” she continued when neither boy said anything.

“How did you find out about it?” Albus found his voice first, but Scorpius couldn’t read his tone.

“I’ve been following you.” The girl ( _Maya_ , Scorpius recalled) chipped idly at her nail polish.  “And your conversation just now wasn’t exactly subtle.”  Her smirk oozed condescension.  He exchanged a look with Albus, argument forgotten in the face of an external obstacle.  _We don’t really have a choice_ , Albus’s shrug seemed to say, to which Scorpius nodded.  Maya at least had enough information to implicate them should they carry on the prank without her, and she probably would not have trouble spinning a story convincing enough to land them in detention just off what she currently knew.

“Well… how much do you know about our plans?”

Maya considered this.

“Just that you’re planning to prank the Gryffs.  And now your morals are apparently being put on the line.”  The latter statement was delivered with no small amount of sarcasm.  “So, what else do I need to know?”

“We’re targeting the common room,” Scorpius said after another glance at Albus, “and the mechanism of the prank is going to be a potion, as we don’t really have the skills for significant enchantments.”

“And you wanted Weasley to get you in the common room?” she looked at Scorpius for confirmation.  He nodded while Albus clenched his jaw.  “And, Potter, your problem with that is?”

          “It just doesn’t seem fair!”  Albus burst out.  Scorpius couldn’t help but feel slightly embarrassed by his friend’s excessive emotion.  “Forcing my own cousin to turn traitor?”

          “All’s fair in love and war, Potty,” Maya responded without regard to Scorpius’s internal monologue.

          “Now who’s glorifying things?” Albus no longer sounded upset—slightly exasperated, but also like he might be enjoying the argument.

          “My point exactly!”

          “That hypocrisy makes for shoddy debate skills?”

          Maya cackled.  Scorpius had never known anyone outside of his Aunt Daphne that actually cackled.

          “That it’s just a prank.  You probably prank your siblings all the time at home, right?”  She didn’t wait for confirmation.  “Why’s it any different now?”

          Scorpius realized she had a point, and a slight blush crept to his cheeks.  It had been so easy to imagine himself in place of one of the conquering warlocks in his adventure novels, triumphing over his enemies, but now Maya’s smirk snatched his head right out of the clouds.

          “It was supposed to be revenge for being such prats,” Albus argued, but like he had already conceded.

          “Okay, fine, I’ll be the first to agree that the Gryffs don’t need to be so bloody smug all the time, but you guys are acting like they used an Unforgivable on your puppy.”

          “They’re still not exactly going to laugh off a prank and invite us for Butterbeers, though.”

          Maya looked eerily like Professor Nott when someone was trying his patience with stupid questions.

          “The point is to put them in their place a bit.  We don’t want them to just ‘laugh it off’ but we’re not going to do anything illegal, are we?  No one’s going to get hurt.  And for Merlin’s sake, these are _Gryffindors_ we’re talking about.  What are the odds they’ll even think to wonder how we got past the portrait hole, much less figure out Weasley had something to do with it?”

          Albus shook his head.  “You might be right, except there’s no way we can use Rose.  I know her—she won’t give us the password outright, and she knows me too well for us to try anything subtler.  I wouldn’t be able to fool her.”

          “Does she know Malfoy as well?”

          “Judging by our exchanges in class, Weasley would rather drink Bubotuber pus than tell me anything,” Scorpius informed her.  Maya snorted in appreciation of the hyperbole, but the growling of Albus’s stomach nearly drowned it out.

          “Shall we go to dinner, then?  We can think around the problem with Weasley just as easily over food.”  Without waiting for more than an acquiescent nod, Maya set off with the two boys following. 

          It occurred to Scorpius that his number of friends may have just increased to two.

 

* * *

 

Albus bit back the swearword that came to his tongue at the sight of Peeves.  He had forgotten his Astronomy homework in the dormitory, and going back to retrieve it had given him a very narrow margin to avoid being late.  And now it looked like sprinting up that last flight of stairs would be all for naught.  Al ducked into an alcove where a rusty suit of armor stood, hoping that the poltergeist would fail to notice him and move on quickly.  The hope was in vain; the squeak of protest the armor made upon finding the intruder in its alcove could’ve been heard in Hogsmeade. 

“Why it’s the little snakey Potter!” crowed Peeves.  “Hiding in an alcove, what would people say?  Maybe that ickle Potty is a spy!  A spy for his little snakey friends, that’s no good, no good at all—“

“What was that, Peeves?” An older girl with a scarlet prefect badge strode down the corridor.

“Wasn’t saying nothing, oh no, just asking Pottikins why he would spy on the poor Gryffie-poos that’ve not done nothing wrong.” A maniacal giggle accompanied the statement as the Gryffindor prefect’s eyes flashed.  Al tried to stammer out an explanation, but she did not look willing to hear him out.

“So.  Out after-hours—“

“We have Astronomy—“

“Found trying to force entry to another house’s common room—“

“I don’t even know where the common room is!”

“A likely story!  Disrupting the peace—“ Albus couldn’t believe her bull-headedness.  He hadn’t done anything; it was Peeves making all the racket.  Unfortunately, he didn’t have many options.  Talking wasn’t getting him anywhere, and there were no tricks or spells he could pull off against someone twice his height and six years farther through her education.

“All you stupid snakes are the same--”  _If the punishment is anything more than a couple points, I could take it up with Professor Nott_ , Albus thought, knowing full well he would serve a hundred detentions before running to his imposing Head like a whiny child.  “-- they shouldn’t even let you lot in anymore, it would’ve saved a lot of lives in the last war.”  Albus didn’t know whether he was more shocked by her titanically leaky logic or the glib way she spoke about casualties of the last war.  He heard stories about the individuals all the time; how Teddy’s parents had matching patronuses, how one of Mum’s schoolmates took photos of everything, but the actual war where people died?  Mum might answer a question steadily with a faraway look, like she wasn’t the one remembering.  Dad sometimes said something in a shaky voice after a glass or two of firewhiskey on Victoire’s birthday.  But no one ever mentioned the war with the offhandedness of the girl currently shouting at him.  It struck him slightly dumb, or at least threw him off enough he couldn’t immediately come up with a retort.

He was spared the awkward silence when a portrait at the end of the hall swung open, and a tiny blonde girl climbed out.

“Jenny?  Is everything okay?” 

The prefect—Jenny—turned, and the voice she replied in was much calmer than the one with which she had been addressing Albus.

“Everything’s fine, Alice.”  _That’s Alice Longbottom_ , supplied Albus’s subconscious.  He could now connect the heart shaped face before him with the shy girl who sat by Hannah instead of joining the other kids at Sunday teas.  “Just addressing the matter of this Slytherin creep lurking outside the common room,” Jenny continued without regard to Al’s internal realizations.

Alice cocked her head to look Albus in the eye, and her brow creased slightly.  “It’s okay, Jenny.  He’s not spying.  I told him he could borrow my Astronomy notes, is all.”  Jenny and Albus looked at her with almost equal measures of surprise.  She smiled shyly at them both.  “They’re just up in the dorm, Al.  I’ll run and get them.” 

The prefect stayed a few moments longer to glare at Albus with suspicion, then followed the smaller girl through the portrait hole.  Albus let his gaze wander around the corridor on the off chance that one of the wall hangings would provide a reasonable explanation for what had just occurred.  None of them did.

“Here you go,” Alice said as she reappeared.

“I, er, don’t actually need your Astronomy notes,” Albus replied with some discomfort.

“Oh yeah, silly me,” she said too quickly.

“But thanks… y’know.  For saving me from detention.”

“Yes, well.  You weren’t spying, were you?”

“No! I was just hiding from Peeves.”

“Oh he’s such a nuisance.”  They both relaxed a bit, to have the conversation on common ground.

“Yeah, and his shenanigans have kept me so long, there’s not even a point showing up to class,”  Al groaned after a glance at his watch.

“I’m sorry.”  Alice sounded genuinely remorseful.  “Jenny’s usually not bad, she’s just a little stuck in the past.  Judging people before she knows them and all that.”  _Stuck in the past?  More like something’s stuck up her butt,_ Albus thought, but his reply was more civil.

“S’not your fault.  I should, er, probably be heading back to my dorm.”

“Yes, of course, sorry for keeping you!”  She smiled.  He just nodded in return, and began to walk away, hoping he could outdistance the awkwardness on foot.  By the time he reached the dorm room, however, all thoughts of discomfort had vanished.  In their place he had found _inspiration_.

 

* * *

 

“Don’t come off the stairs!” Alice shrieked.  Rose stopped dead, and through her Saturday morning grogginess, tried to figure out what was going on.  Scattered across the common room floor were several of the usual early risers, all apparently stuck fast to the floor.  Most of them were struggling to detatch their feet from the carpet, and as Rose watched, a sixth year Beater lost his balance and fell face first.  Rose couldn’t help but laugh as the burly boy lay with his feet, arms, and cheek thoroughly glued to the carpet while his bottom remained straining safely in the air.  The variety of his swearing would have impressed even her father.

Alice, however, was nearly in tears.  And Rose, after a second glance around the common room, realized her mirth might be an unpopular response.

“ _GRYFFINDOR: STICKS UP THEIR BUTTS SINCE 990 A.D._ ” declared a garish banner strung across the portrait hole.  Rose’s eyes widened.

“Is the whole floor sticky?”  _God, what an awful pun.  Sticky floor?  Sticks up butts?  Is that really the best they could do?_

_Also, who’s “they”?_

“Not right at the base of the stairs, but everywhere else, and it’s my fault—“

“Don’t be ridiculous, Alice, how could this be your fault?”  Then, without waiting for an explanation, “Hang on, I’ll be right back.”

Rose fled up the dormitory stairs, all the way up to the top floor where she knocked smartly on the seventh year girls’ door.  Muffled groans and halfhearted swear words greeted this, so she knocked again.  After a moment, Victoire opened the door.

“Rose, what on earth—“

“Can I borrow your broom?  Or you can come down and fly it yourself, it really doesn’t matter much.”

Victoire did everything beautifully, but if there was one thing she did slightly less beautifully than all the other things, it was try to make sense out of her cousin’s request first thing on a Saturday morning.  Seeing her struggle, Rose elaborated (admittedly with some impatience).

“Somebody’s pranked the common room—the whole floor is too sticky to move across and there’s a stupid banner, and I figured somebody would have to go and get Neville, but since walking’s not an option, that person would have to fly, and I don’t have a broom,” she finished.  Victoire looked slightly more alert.

“Do you know whether it’s a spell on the common room, or what?  Because I might just be able to do _Finite Incantatum_ …”

“I don’t know, and there are already several people stuck so we should probably hurry.”

“Right.  Alright.  Just let me get my broom.  And my wand.”  The door shut and then reopened a few moments later.  “Hop on.” 

Rose hesitated in a moment of confusion at the proffered vehicle.

“There’s more room to push off up here than at the bottom of the steps.”  It was now Vitoire’s turn to be impatient.  Rose obligingly clambered on in front of the older girl, and they flew down the stairs in a fairly steep dive.  As they shot across the common room, Rose gave a delighted shriek, and she heard Victoire laugh behind her.

Because they didn’t bother to dismount even once they were clear of the trap, it took no time at all to reach Neville’s office by the greenhouses and explain the situation.  The return trip was longer, because the professor refused to fly and mandated that the girls stop and explain the situation to Headmistress Sprout on their way.  The broom was then abandoned and Victoire sent alone to fetch Professor Lewis for an antidote to Sticking Solution, as Sprout had managed to identify the substance coating the floor. 

The upshot was, by the time Gryffindor tower was restored to its normal, non-adhesive state, nearly a hundred unsuspecting students had had time to get mired in the stuff, and the rest of the House had been crammed into the dormitory stairwells for an hour.  Several others had apparently been shoved out of the stairwells, making for some interesting positions in which to be stuck.

Not one person had managed to get breakfast, and everyone was cranky.

“’Sticks up our butts’?  I’d like to hear ‘em say it to my face!”

“Cowards!”

“Wait ‘til they get what’s coming to them!” 

“Merlin, but I don’t fancy being the next person Jenny gets hold of,” Rose whispered to James, who happened to be next to her.  His face turned ugly.

“Can’t blame her, though.  This is too far,” he growled.  Rose stared at him.  She had always known James to be fairly easy-going, if obnoxious, and the butt of pranks nearly as often as the executer.  She had never seen him fall prey to a practical joke of Al’s with such ill humor.

“But why?  Nobody was hurt or anything…”

“It’s not what they did, Rose, it’s who did it.  Bloody Slytherins!”  And James Sirius Potter stamped his foot—honest-to-Godric _stamped_ as though he were a small child throwing a fit.  Rose tried to reign in her disdain.

“How do you know it was them?”

“Who else would it be?”

“Look at the banner,” a new voice said.  Rose turned and saw Pat with a serious expression on his face.  She quickly curbed her smile.  “It’s green and silver—they left us a nice calling card.”

Rose tried to think of something meaningful to add to the discussion, but before she could, Pat had moved on to join a group surrounding Dominique, and James had disappeared, possibly to raid the kitchens.  She herself sighed, and trudged back up to her dormitory, hoping to drown out hunger with a Transfiguration essay.  Thoughts of schoolwork evaporated from her mind however, when she opened the door to a crying Alice methodically shredding several feet of parchment.

“Alice?”  Her friend looked up, face red and angrier than Rose had ever seen it.  “Are—is everything okay?”

“No!  It’s _not_.”

“Do you, um, want to tell me what’s wrong?”  Rose wished desperately she had not inherited her father’s discomfort when confronted with emotion.

“I’m a _traitor_ to my house!  It’s my fault, those damn snakes tricked me—“

Rose couldn’t recall ever hearing Alice swear before.

“—I was just being nice, and they _take advantage of me how DARE THEY I’LL SHOW THEM—_ “ Alice was increasing in both volume and incoherence, and Rose still had very little idea of what had happened.

“Alice.  Breathe.  Explain it to me from the beginning,” she begged, grabbing the other girl’s shoulders to get her attention.  Alice obligingly took several deep breaths, and resumed speaking in something more akin to her normal tone.

“So… a few days ago, I saw Jenny giving Albus—yes, your cousin—a hard time for being in the hall outside the portrait hole, so I made an excuse for him because I felt bad.  And I thought that was that, y’know, but then yesterday he came up to me after dinner and thanked me again and asked me if he could walk me to the common room, and of course I wasn’t going to say _no_ , so he came along and he’s actually quite funny—“

Rose nodded encouragingly as Alice’s voice rose in pitch proportionally to her distress.

“—and so I wasn’t really paying attention to his house, it was like talking to you or Martin, and I said the password without thinking, just like _that_ , and he was so nice about it I _thought_ —he _promised_ he wouldn’t _tell_ but obviously he did!”  Alice punctuated her speech by throwing a nearby jar of face cream against the wall.  Rose watched the lotion drip down, torn between terror and fascination at Alice’s ferocious anger.  She never would have dreamed this kind of reaction.

“Alice, I don’t—it’s not—“ Rose really wished she knew how to address this.  “This is probably just a coincidence, okay?  Al wouldn’t do something like this anyhow,” she finished adamantly.  Alice gave a bitter snort.

“Oh, no Rose, it was definitely him.”

“Him knowing the password doesn’t prove anything.”

“No, but him and Malfoy asking me for help practicing Sticking Solutions makes a pretty bad case for his innocence,” Alice said flatly.  While Rose sputtered, Alice continued, “Classes came up when we were walking after dinner, and as soon as he realized I liked Potions, he asked me if I could tutor him ‘because there’s this tricky one I can’t quite figure out that Professor Lewis assigned for extra credit’,” she imitated Albus in a whiny voice before screaming, “Argh!  I just can’t believe I fell for it!” and throwing a shoe.

          “Wait, seriously?”  Rose could feel her temper start to boil and spill over: towards Alice for making her doubt her cousin, towards Albus for double-crossing Alice, towards the whole of Slytherin for corrupting Al, towards herself for not knowing what to think, and towards the house elves that had cleaned up breakfast before she had a chance to eat any.  She breathed in through her nose.  “Come on, then.”

          “Where—“

          “We’re going to find Al and get to the bottom of this bloody mess!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at all these shades of grey! Who do you think is in the right-- Albus? Alice? Maya?  
> I'm pretty happy with this one, but if you have any feedback, please leave it (I hope it's not coming across as over dramatic!)


	7. The Consequences

Al did not expect to get punched by Alice Longbottom on his way to lunch.  He hadn’t really expected to  _ever_  get punched by Alice Longbottom, yet here he was standing at the entrance to the dungeons with his eyes watering in pain.  
  
“Why would you do that?” Scorpius cried indignantly on his behalf.  Albus expected Rose to retort, but she was too busy staring at Alice, seemingly impressed.  
  
“That was for taking advantage of me!” growled Alice, looking like she might take a swing at him next if Maya hadn’t intervened.  
  
“What do you mean?” she said, all wide eyes and innocence.  
  
“I mean that it’s a bloody rotten thing to ask for someone’s help, act like their friend, and then turn around and attack their common room!”  
  
Rose, in an uncharacteristically diplomatic tone elaborated.  
  
“Someone from Slytherin coated the floor in Sticking Solution, which Alice said she helped you with just a few days ago.”  Al knew it would give him away, but he couldn’t bring himself to look her in the eyes.  
  
“That sounds very clever, Weasley, but I’m not sure how we’re supposed to have gotten into your common room in the first place,” Scorpius said in a brave attempt at nonchalance, but Albus cursed him silently,  _Stupid! Now they know it was an “us” and not just a “me”._  In his experience, it was always better to reveal as little as possible, even once found out.  
  
“Alice also said Al overheard her say the password.”  Alice herself stood with her arms crossed and a glare on her face, but she also looked less homicidal and more generally upset.  
  
“Interesting story…but all you have is circumstantial evidence,” Maya said with a sweet smile.  “So really, this is nothing more than a deliberate attempt to increase inter-house tensions by going after an easy underdog.”  
  
Rose, completely characteristically, took the bait.  
  
“Excuse me for caring about justice!  And honor!”  
  
“Honor?” Maya somehow managed to look down her nose at Rose, despite being nearly six inches shorter.  “That’s rich, coming from the house of cheating bullies who apparently turn on their families at the first opportunity.”  Albus was fairly used to seeing Rose mad, but he hadn’t ever seen anything like the fury she now projected.  
  
“Oh that’s the cauldron calling the kettle black!  We could have gone straight to Professor Longbottom, you know.  I thought I was being nice coming to give Albus a chance to explain himself, but apparently you’d rather I was just as backstabbing as you snakes.  Duly noted!”  She turned to storm off, but at the last moment stopped to face Al.  He did his best to avoid flinching.  “I’m sorry for thinking that maybe you could be in Slytherin without turning evil.  Obviously my mistake.”  
  
Her words stung more than Alice’s punch had, but Al’s gut lurched as she walked away, and he knew he couldn’t let things end there.  He had just gotten Rose back as his best friend, and he didn’t want to lose her again.  
  
“Rose, wait!”  Maya and Scorpius and even Alice looked at Albus with some surprise, but Rose merely stopped walking and did not face him.  “It was me, okay?  I pulled the prank.”  
  
“Explains why it was so stupid, then,” she said coldly.  Al did his best to smother the anger that rose at the back of his throat.  
  
“Just listen, for Merlin’s sake!  I admit to the prank, but I think you’re blowing it out of proportion.  You and I’ve done worse to James and Freddy loads of times,” he paraphrased Maya’s arguments from a few days previously.  
  
“Yeah but they deserved it!”  
  
“Yeah, and nobody in Gryffindor has ever done anything bad to us,” Albus snapped sarcastically, “It’s not like a bunch of them didn’t  _attack_  us at dinner just last week!”  
  
“You still targeted innocent people!”  
  
“Merlin, Rose, it’s not like we caused anybody permanent damage.  Have some perspective,” he said moving beyond ire to exasperation.  
  
“That still doesn’t excuse how you used Alice,” Rose replied, clearly reluctant to relinquish her righteous anger.  A stab of guilt pierced Albus’s annoyance, though.  
  
“You—you’re right.  I’m sorry for taking advantage of you, Alice,” he finished to the blonde girl.  Everyone seemed taken aback by this response.  
  
“Thank you for saying sorry,” she finally said.  “I don’t know if I can forgive you just yet, but I accept your apology.”  The five students stood for a moment in the awkward silence of an impasse.  Rose was clearly deflating as her temper burned itself out, Maya was watching Rose with narrowed eyes, Scorpius’s face was more neutral as he looked back and forth around the group, and Alice just stared at the floor.   
  
“We won’t report Alice for attacking Albus, if you promise to keep quiet about the prank,” Scorpius eventually offered.  Albus was perfectly aware that the two Gryffindor girls would be doing them an enormous favor if they accepted this offer, as the crimes were nowhere near equal, but Scorpius presented it with a haughty-but-gracious air that made it seem as though it were the other way around.  
  
“Deal,” Rose said after sizing him up for a moment.  “Al, should we—“ she gestured toward the Great Hall, and it took Albus a moment to realize that she was not in fact referring to him, but had chosen to employ a shortened version of Alice’s name.  He closed his mouth; he was not the one from whom she was expecting a reply.  The tension diffused as the Gryffindors made their way to their own house table, but Al still felt an uncomfortable weight in his stomach.  
  
“That could have gone much worse,” Scorpius murmured over shepherd’s pie, but Maya wrinkled her nose.  
  
“Weasley needs to learn the world isn’t as clear cut as she thinks it is.”  The disdain in her voice made Albus feel as though he should defend Rose somehow, but he didn’t know how to explain that’s just how she  _was_.  
  
The weight in his stomach increased.  
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
   
  
The whole day, rumors fairly flew about what and who had happened to Gryffindor House last night, but (the notable exceptions of Rose and Alice aside), no one thought to ask the opinion of three Slytherin first years.  That night, though, Zabini called a house meeting just after curfew.  
  
“I’m sure you are all intelligent enough to guess why I’m speaking to you.  For those of you who are unforgivably misinformed or just living under a rock, last night the Gryffindor common room was coated in Sticking Solution and decorated with an insulting banner.”  There were some appreciative chuckles, and some more suggestions for slogans the banner should have born.  
  
“Naturally, suspicion quickly falls upon us.  Professor Nott and Headmistress Sprout have asked me to, ah, look into the matter.”  She held up a hand to silence the mutters that swelled at this.  “However, I cannot report what I don’t know.  As far as I’m concerned, nobody in this house knows anything about this prank, and I’m going to do you the favor of assuming that none of you are cretinous enough to go around asking questions.” She held her imperious look for a second after she stopped speaking, then broke into a sly grin.  
  
“That said, here’s to the Gryffs getting a taste of their own medicine!”  Zabini raised an imaginary glass to an enthusiastic chorus of agreement.  
  
Everyone more or less went their separate ways after that, but Scorpius held onto the warm feeling that filled him at the sound of their cheers.  And he couldn’t stop the smug smile that crept onto his face when Montague lamented his lack of involvement as the boys were preparing for bed.  
  
“Stephen, Zabini said not to talk about it.”  
  
“Stuff it, Walish, it’s not like anyone’s spying on our dorms,” Montague snapped, before grinning like a fox.  “You should give Malfoy more credit than that.”  Scorpius froze, the warmth in his stomach trickling away as Davies snickered.  He tugged the hangings of his four-poster closed, taking refuge in the cocoon of rich green fabric and berating himself for thinking anything would have changed.  
  
   
  
Something  _had_  changed, though, in the weeks leading up to the winter holidays.  The animosity faced by Slytherin students had, if possible, grown even higher.  Rose and Alice appeared to have kept their words, as Scorpius, Albus, and Maya faced no worse than the rest of their house, but that was quite bad enough.  Gryffindor house, instead of obligingly being taken down a few pegs, seemed to take the prank as no less than a declaration of war.  Attacks ranged from things as mundane as spitballs to as aggressive as booby trapping the entrance to the dungeons.  
  
“Eurgh!” screamed Maya at dinner one memorable evening upon discovering that their roast had been replaced by a heaping plate of rotting fish.  It caused quite a commotion, especially once she flicked one at Davies for laughing at her alarm.  
  
Not that Slytherin took this lying down.  Duels between older students became a regular occurrence, and prefects began warning first and second years to travel in groups to avoid being attacked.  Professor Longbottom told off the students he caught from either house, but Professor Nott seemed to have turned a blind eye to the affair altogether.  Scorpius recalled Kitara’s “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy, and wondered if this was Nott’s way of encouraging his house to defend themselves as they saw fit.  
  
Words were harder to defend against, however.  Pranks and spells could be avoided or retaliated if one was clever and observant, but the hisses of “dirty snakes,” “thugs,” “no-good-lying-cheats” were inescapable.  And when Scorpius was within earshot “Death Eater scum” never failed to make its way into the list of insults.  
  
   
  
Their last class before break was History of Magic, a coincidence Scorpius felt was the most pointless exercise in which he’d had to participate during his time at Hogwarts.  Binns’s lectures struggled to keep the attention of his students at the best of times, but with snow falling in big wet flakes outside the window and the promise of freedom mere hours away, no one had even bothered to take out a quill as a nod to the pretense of taking notes.  Maya was doodling fantastically unflattering caricatures of their classmates, Walish was practicing levitation charms on a piece of parchment, and Scorpius even spotted Weasley passing notes to the girl next to her.  Figuring he could rely on Bathilda Bagshot to catch him up later, Scorpius put his head down on the desk, letting his mind wander—an early Christmas present to himself.  Daydreams of returning home, getting a hug from his mother, and seeing the pride in Father’s eyes when Scorpius told him how well he was doing in all his classes were all interrupted when a crumpled up ball of parchment hit the back of his head.  He turned to receive a sympathetic glance from Albus, and sighed.  He should have known better than to think he could let his guard down in a room whose population was half Gryffindor.    
  
The next projectile was a paper airplane, followed by a quick progression of spitballs.  Shuddering at the sudden wetness on the back of his neck, Scorpius walked out to the bathroom to clean himself up without bothering to ask permission.  Upon his return, he saw his schoolbag was overflowing with Edible Dark Marks.  The familiar anger and indignation squeezed their icy hands around his heart, and as soon as the lesson ended he strode over to the bin and threw them in one by one.  His vehemence meant this display did not go unnoticed; Albus and Maya hung back silently, but many others seemed to find it amusing.  
  
“Bet he wishes they were real Dark Marks,” sniggered a curly headed boy.  His friends laughed.  
  
“Must not be too excited for the hols,” another one added, “to be throwing away such a nice early Christmas present.”  
  
“Would you be excited to spend Christmas with  _that_  family, Belby?”  Scorpius could see his own hands shaking as he prepared to dump the last of the candies.  Maya calmly plucked it from his grasp and shoved it in the first boy’s laughing mouth.  
  
“Imagine how  _your_  poor parents must feel, Harry!” she snapped as he gagged.  Flattered as he was that a loose cannon such as Maya would come to his defense, Scorpius felt more like throwing up himself.  In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to be out of Hogwarts forever—never mind the two friends walking along next to him, never mind the classes, and the freedom—he wanted to go home.    
  
Scorpius went to bed early that night, not sure but also not caring if Albus realized he was upset.  He managed to fall asleep before any of the other boys came up, but his dreams provided little respite from his agitation.  
  
 _He was home, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the fire place in the lesser sitting room where they always unwrapped their Christmas gifts.  Mother was laughing, using Banishing Charms to send presents from under the tree to their intendeds.  Scorpius tore into his first gift, only to find it contained another wrapped box.  He opened that one as well, and found himself faced with the same predicament.  Growing frantic, he stripped the third box of its paper; then the fourth; then the fifth—they were never ending, he would never discover what he had gotten.  Father noticed his distress, and Scorpius regarded him with a slightly teary stare as the older man knelt down and pulled a much smaller package out of his dressing gown._  
  
 _“There now, try this one, son.  I had it made just for you.”  Scorpius obliged, opening the little sack to find a piece of black fabric.  He didn’t know what it was, but it made his blood run cold just to hold it._  
  
 _“It’s a mask, Scorpius,” Father explained.  But it was not Father’s voice—it was something deep and ominous.  “Now you will be able to carry on the family traditions with me.”  He donned his own mask which was black, but so dark it hurt Scorpius’s eyes to look at and it seemed to swallow his father’s face rather than simply cover it._  
  
 _“You need more light?” the-thing-that-was-not-Father replied to his thoughts.  It screeched with laughter—long, high, and demented—before flames burst out of the mouth and eye holes._  
  
 _Scorpius scrambled back without standing up, trying desperately to flee the demon bearing down on him.  He could feel the heat from the flames, the wall was at his back—_  
  
 _“Put on your mask!” Scorpius shook his head at the order, he didn’t want to become what his father had, he wouldn’t obey, though he was shaking with terror._  
  
 _“PUT IT ON!” the demon screamed again. “ON!  ON!  ON!” It came closer with each reiteration, Scorpius couldn’t escape, he could feel his skin melting off as it grabbed the mask and forced it over his head, suffocating him he couldn’t breathe—_  
  
Scorpius shot up in bed, pulse racing.  As he sat in the dark and tried to calm his breathing he wondered if he wanted to go home after all.  
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
   
  
Harry sat bolt upright, reaching out to make sure Ginny was safe beside him before registering the reason he woke up.  A silver lynx had landed on their bed; the intense illumination in front of his eyelids had been enough to wrest him from his dreams.  He was glad the bright flash was not, in fact, a curse, but he panic he’d felt upon waking eased only slightly—a patronus from Kingsley in the middle of the night could only mean bad news.  
  
“Mmmph… Harry?” Ginny mumbled, putting a sleepy hand on his arm.    
  
“Go back to sleep, Gin.”  
  
“S’everything okay?”  
  
“Message from Kingsley,” Harry stopped to wonder why the patronus had not yet delivered it.  “My ears only.”  He kissed her forehead quickly, then threw on the nearest pair of robes before striding out to the hall.  
  
“Harry, I apologize for waking you,” the lynx said in a deep voice that had much more urgency than Harry was used to hearing from its owner.  “You need to come into the office immediately—there’s been a breakout from Azkaban.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... The cliffhanger would be more dramatic if I weren't about to post the following chapter...
> 
> Did you think everyone's reactions were realistic?


	8. Christmas is a Time for Family (Secrets)

“And we make popcorn balls by hand, no magic, like my dad did when he was a kid.  Then we drink cocoa and play cards until my little sisters fall asleep.  And when we wake up, we open presents first thing, of course!”  Martin described his family’s Christmas traditions in turn.  Quickly bored with playing Exploding Snap, the five first years had turned to conversation to pass the time.  Rose had already described the madness of forty-odd people spending all of Christmas Day at the Burrow, and Alice contributed her family’s custom of decorating gingerbread.  Cassie, whom Rose had pegged as a bit of a loner, informed them sociably enough that she went sledding with her Muggle relatives provided there was snow.

“And you, Gem?”

“Oh—we, um, go to a midnight service at my parents’ church,” she said in a more subdued manner than was usual for her.  

“I went to a Christmas service once with my Nana Jean,” Rose put in when it became clear Gemma was not going to add anything further to her statement.

“What service are you getting?” Alice asked with genuine curiosity.  “Do they decorate a tree for you, or something?”  Rose cast a fond look at her pureblood friend.

“No, it’s a religious service.  A lot of Muggles celebrate Christmas because they believe the son of God was born that day,” Rose recited the answer her mother had given Hugo when he had asked the same thing.

“Who wants another game of Exploding Snap?” Gemma interrupted.  They all acquiesced to the blatant change of subject without questioning her, but Rose had only played her first card before Dominique burst into their compartment.

“C’mon Rosie, we’re getting a family compartment so we’re all together when we get to the station.”  Rose would have pointed out that this seemed to be optimistic to the point of folly, but she was too shocked by her cousin’s appearance.

“Dom—your _hair_!”

“Oh.  Yeah,” Dom said with a slight blush as she ruffled her newly shorn locks.  “I, uh, did it yesterday.”  Her strawberry blonde hair, which had previously fallen in thick waves past her lower back was now a neck-baring pixie cut.

“That’ll be some surprise for your mum,” Rose said, still gaping.  Dom grinned wickedly.

“I know!  Now come on, slowpoke.”

Wishing her friends “Happy Christmas”, Rose followed the older girl down the train to a compartment that already contained Victoire, Fred, and James.

“James, what are you scheming now?” Victoire asked with more interest than disapproval; Rose saw her Head Girl badge had already been stowed in her bag.

“We’re going to spike the Slytherins’ pumpkin juice with Babbling Beverage,” he returned.  “We just need someone who knows how to brew it.” He and Fred both turned to her hopefully.

“As Head Girl, I should not aid such mischief,” their faces fell, “but if I happened to leave a spare potions room unlocked after studying for my NEWTS and someone happened to use it to brew a batch of Babbling Beverage, well…” she trailed off grinning.

“Don’t ask me,” Dom told them.  “I’m all set to fail my Potions OWL.”  Fred shook his head in disappointment as James rolled up the parchment containing their plan.

“Best to get this out of sight before our own personal Slytherin arrives,” he explained with surprising malice.

“James, that’s not very fair,” Victoire reproached.

“Would you trust anyone else in that house, Vic?  Maybe Al’s still okay, but just maybe...”

“Better safe than sorry,” Fred summed up.

“He’s still your brother.”

“My brother with suspicious loyalties!”

“James, this isn’t one of those stupid spy movies your muggle cousins showed you,” Rose sassed him, but with less confidence than she might have.  The confrontation with Al two days ago hadn’t led to her figuring out what to think about, well, anything.  It was quite vexing.

“Have you even talked to him since the Sorting?” Molly asked, having entered in time for most of the conversation.  James’s blush and stammered excuses answered her question clearly enough.  Their family was practically built on snarky exchanges, but no one was quite as good as Molly at leaving no room for a comeback.  Rose supposed it was the Ravenclaw wit coming through. 

“Love your hair, by the way, Dom,” Molly diffused the tension rather effortlessly after her point had been made.

They were joined by Albus in short order, and the older girls kept the conversation going well enough that the awkwardness wasn’t unbearable.  Al sat next to Rose, but said nothing.

At Kings Cross Victoire led them off the train, performed a head count, announced “Good, that’s everyone” (apparently she had shared Rose’s fears that a cousin or two would simply wander off), and together they proceeded towards the gaggle of red headed adults that were easily visible from anywhere on the platform.

Rose hugged both her father and Hugo, but her mother was noticeably absent.  Not that it was necessary for her to come, of course, but Rose would have expected her to want to greet her firstborn off the train after nearly four months apart.  She wasn’t the only one missing a parent, however.  James and Albus were standing with just Aunt Ginny, and Molly seemed to be preparing to go home with Uncle Bill’s family as neither of her parents were there at all. 

Teddy’s presence, on the other hand, was quite apparent.  Especially when they chose to, ah, _greet_ Victoire with perhaps more enthusiasm than was necessary in front of her parents.  Rose had yet to see anyone but Andromeda who could successfully stay mad at Teddy though, so she supposed they were safe.  The Potter children seemed delighted to see their godsibling, and Rose wondered if they’d come in Uncle Harry’s stead.

“Where’s Mum?” Rose questioned her father once they got back to the car.

“She got called into work early this morning,” he replied with an arm thrown behind the passenger seat and his body twisted to see where he was going as he backed the car out of the tight (possibly illegal, though Rose was fuzzy on muggle traffic laws) space.

“Why?” piped up Hugo.

“It’s confidential, Hugh, I told you this morning.”  The impatience Rose could hear in her father’s tone kept her from pressing the matter further.  His ire probably had more to do with traffic than with the conversation, but it was probably in all of their best interests to allow Dad to concentrate fully on his questionable driving skills.

 

* * *

 

“Where’s Dad?” Al asked after getting a hug and a kiss from his mother.  He thought his tone had not betrayed the petulance and anxiety he felt at his father’s absence, but why hadn’t he come?  Was he ashamed of Albus’s Sorting after all?  Had he found out about the prank?  Did he just not miss Albus?  Was there something—

“He got an urgent call into work last night.” His mum interrupted his increasingly panicky thoughts.  “He—well, he might not be around much this Christmas.”  The way she set her jaw told Albus that she was extremely annoyed about this, but she also felt a little guilty for feeling annoyed.

“What happened?” James asked eagerly.

“They’re keeping it confidential,” Mum’s tone quelled his obvious desire for a tale of danger and glory.  Al’s disappointment turned to apprehension at that; a confidential emergency that required the Head of the Auror Department to work over winter holiday couldn’t be anything good.  He was unable to muse over the matter for long; Teddy had made their way over to the Potters and was handing out hugs and hair-ruffles like there was no tomorrow.  Caught up for the moment in Teddy’s natural exuberance, Al pushed his worry aside.

 

* * *

 

“Scorpius!” His mother wrapped him in a hug as soon as he got within arm’s reach.  The gesture wasn’t too drawn out—no need for displays of uncontrollable emotion in front of crowds of strangers—but the brief embrace was more of a comfort than Scorpius could have imagined.  When he was released, Scorpius looked past Mother to his father.

“Welcome home, son.”  Father’s smile reached his eyes, and the hand he rested on Scorpius’s shoulder gave a loving squeeze.  Scorpius smiled back, but was fairly certain his expression did not reach his eyes; his parents’ presence and his father’s love suddenly seemed claustrophobic, and the walk to their Apparition point was a tense one.

“Is something wrong, dear?” Mother eventually asked after Scorpius gave yet another one word answer to their questions about classes and friends.

“I had an early morning getting ready to come home.  I’m just tired.”  The last part was true anyway; he had gotten very little sleep after the nightmare last night.  He couldn’t tell if this excuse was sufficiently convincing, but either way his parents let him be and allowed him to go straight up to his room after they got home.

 

* * *

 

Ginny poured herself a glass of wine and tried to relax.  Dinner with Teddy and Andromeda had been lovely: much more sedate than tomorrow’s affair at the Burrow promised to be.  James and Al had even failed to have so much as a single argument, and Lily went right up to bed when they got home, only talking back to Ginny once.  _A peaceful Christmas Eve, isn’t this nice_ , Ginny tried to convince herself, failing rather miserably.  She was too upset that Harry had missed it all, too angry that he couldn’t spend Christmas Eve with his family, and worried nearly out of her mind about whatever it was that was keeping him.  Neither Kingsley nor Harry’s own conscience would allow her husband to work straight through the holidays if the matter did not pose a significant threat.  The image of a classically handsome face crept into her mind before changing to one much paler and more serpentine.  _No! No.  He’s gone_ , Ginny reminded herself sternly.  _You saw him die._   She took a shaky gulp from her glass, and decided to wait up for Harry.

 

“Ginny, love.”  Harry’s quiet voice swam into her dreams, and she stirred at the feeling of his weight settling onto the couch next to her.  “Come up to bed now.”  Ginny woke more fully then, remembering why she had stayed downstairs in the first place.

“Harry.” She kissed him in greeting, but pulled back quickly.

 “Tell me what’s going on?”  She gave him the most level look she was able; George called it her “don’t bullshit me” face.  Harry sighed and rubbed his face, obviously exhausted, and Ginny crawled onto his lap and put her arms around him, relenting.  He hugged her back gratefully, and they remained in that position for several minutes.

“There’s been a breakout from Azkaban—“ Ginny stiffened at the sudden news “—two ex-Death Eaters, and in as many days we haven’t managed to find them or work out how they managed to escape.”

“Shit,” Ginny said bleakly.

“They must have had outside help—not that we have any leads on that either,” frustration coursed through Harry’s voice, but he remained quiet in acknowledgment of their sleeping children.  “And Kingsley’s having a field day keeping it all quiet, Percy’s been working nearly the same hours as me to spin it for the Prophet.  Hermione’s been going over and over the wards and defenses on Azkaban because once the story does leak—“

“The first thing they’ll say is that Azkaban should have been kept in the control of the dementors,” Ginny finished heavily.  She remembered the long battles Harry, Hermione, and Audrey (who worked in Care and Control of Magical Creatures) had fought a few years ago to reform the prison.

“It’s not just the Prophet that’ll be saying it.  Kingsley’s already refused to let Amos Diggory get a few off the reserve to help with the search.” 

“That’s sadistic,” Ginny said, shocked.  “The dementors won’t be better searchers than the Aurors, for Merlin’s sake!  Just crueler when they do catch up.”

“Amos isn’t opposed to the suffering of those who supported Voldemort,” Harry’s voice was weighed down by something like grief, and Ginny hugged him tighter as they both remembered the death that marked the beginning of the last war.

“We should go to bed,” she finally said.  “I assume you have another long day tomorrow?”  Harry nodded, and she berated herself for hoping otherwise.  _Death Eaters on the loose, of course he has to work._

“Well, technically I have a long day today,” he amended after looking at his watch.  “Happy Christmas.”  Harry gave her a small smile and a kiss.  “I’ll do my best to be at dinner—I’ll be on call, but as long as we don’t get any physical sightings, I should be able to come for a few hours.”  Ginny smiled gratefully for small blessings.

 

* * *

 

Scorpius, not unusually, was the first one awake Christmas morning.  Instead of joining the presents in the lesser sitting room, he wandered down to the kitchens for a quiet cup of hot chocolate while he observed Neeby’s breakfast preparations.  The house elf was young for her kind; Scorpius knew she had been with the family only since his father’s adolescence.  As such, she was more amiable to the occasional company of her young master than an elf more set in her ways might have been, and it was an arrangement Scorpius often took advantage of when the vastness of Malfoy Manor turned lonely.  In this instance, Scorpius had time for only a few sips of his drink when the doorbell at the gates began to ring.

“Who is visiting masters so early when it is being Christmas?”  Neeby chirped.  Scorpius shared her surprise; Mother’s family traditionally joined them for dinner, but they would hardly dream of showing up hours early with no forewarning.  “Shame on them for making poor Neeby leave the cooking, Masters’ eggs is sure to being burnt without Neeby to tend them, oh yes,” continued the disgruntled elf.

“I can get the door, Neeby,” Scorpius reassured her.  His curiosity was piqued enough that he genuinely didn’t mind.

“Neeby is being most grateful, Master Scorpius.”

When Scorpius opened the door, he was surprised to find a man that looked extremely similar to Albus accompanied by two women and all wearing Auror badges and robes.

“Welcome,” Scorpius said, careful not to slip up in his manners despite being very aware that he was greeting them still in his dressing gown.  “May I ask your business here?”

“Scorpius, is it?” the man—he had to be Harry Potter—asked.  When Scorpius nodded (after seriously debating whether he should admit to being the Malfoy heir after coming to greet unknown guests in person in his pyjamas), Potter continued, “I’m Auror Potter.  These are Aurors MacMillan and Patil.”  He gestured to the older woman and darker-skinned woman respectively.  “We would like to speak to your father, if he’s available.”

“Why?” The question slipped out before Scorpius could stop it, shamefully desperate.  Potter noticed the shift in his tone; Scorpius could see the green eyes giving him a second evaluation.

“I’m not at liberty to say exactly,” he said gently.  “We think he may have knowledge that could be useful in our current case.”  Scorpius could tell the man was choosing his words carefully, but didn’t think he was lying outright or posing an immediate threat.

“I’ll, um, see if he’s awake.”  _Straight back, head high_ Scorpius told himself as he walked away.  _They are the ones intruding in your home, so act confident for Merlin’s sake._ They’re _the ones who should feel uncomfortable._

Mother was sitting up in her dressing gown when Scorpius knocked and entered his parents’ bedroom; he could hear water running and assumed Father was in the bathroom.

“Did Neeby tell you who was at the door?” she asked as she crossed the impressive expanse of plush carpeting between the king-sized bed and the hall.

“Yes,” Scorpius swallowed.  “It’s some aurors—they’re here to see Father.”  Mother paled, which did not make Scorpius feel any better about the situation.  She strode quickly into the bathroom where she had a hurried conversation with Father of which Scorpius could hear only muffled whispers.  Soon Father emerged from the bathroom with slightly damp hair and an expression that gave nothing away.  He appeared not even to see Scorpius as he strode out to the front hall, jaw set.

“Let’s go down and begin breakfast, shall we?” Mother’s tone was light, but forced, and she put a hand on Scorpius’s shoulder.  “I’m sure Neeby will be quite anxious that it will go cold.”  Scorpius allowed her to steer him down to the dining room, though he could not ever remember being less hungry. 

Nearly an hour of silence that Scorpius spent watching the yolk of his poached eggs spread slowly over his plate passed before Father entered the room.  Scorpius didn’t miss the questioning look in his mother’s eyes, nor the wan smile Father gave her in answer.  Neither one addressed him, and he remained silent.  Neeby entered with Father’s coffee; Father thanked her before giving Scorpius a glance he was unable to interpret.  He could hear blood rushing distantly in his head.

“Are you a Death Eater?”

Scorpius winced at the sudden loudness of his own desperate question, but didn’t rescind it.  He simply let the question hang there in the shocked silence; Scorpius thought he might be sick, and Father still said nothing.  He gave Scorpius another look though, and Scorpius thought the emotion he hadn’t been able to identify might have been shame.

“Not—no longer.”  Scorpius didn’t miss the implication. 

“Explain.  Please.”  _Don’t cry, don’t cry don’t crydontcry_

Father closed his eyes, gripping Mother’s hand on top of the table as though his life depended on it.

“You know why we don’t often visit Grandfather Lucius.”  Scorpius nodded hesitantly—fifteen years in Azkaban had reduced his grandfather to a pasty, shaky shadow of a man who couldn’t walk without a cane and who rarely spoke without cursing muggleborns and the Dark Lord in the same breath. 

“He was sent to Azkaban because he was one of You-Know-Who’s inner circle,” Father continued.  “He and my mother changed allegiance at the Battle of Hogwarts, but not soon enough to exonerate him for the deaths and tortures he was responsible for.  And not soon enough for me to remain neutral as many other of my classmates managed to do.

“Just after my sixteenth birthday, my father failed miserably at an important mission the Dar—You-Know-Who set him.  He was caught and sent to Azkaban; You-Know-Who demanded I take his place.”

Normally Scorpius found the dining room comfortable with its cedar paneled walls and bright artwork—it was one of the few rooms in the Manor to have ever been remodeled since its construction— but he didn’t think he’d be able to set foot in it again without hearing the awful confessions falling from his father’s lips.

“I was proud at first,” Father’s voice shook, “that he thought me a wizard equal to my father.  I accepted the mission he gave me eagerly.  By the time the utter _evil_ of the man I was serving became apparent to me, my position was such that my family and I would be killed, or worse, if I refused.”  Scorpius realized with a shock that his father’s face was glistening from tears, and his own lips began to tremble.  He’d _never_ seen his father cry before.

“But that is hardly an excuse when the consequences of my cowardice don’t fall on me alone.  You and your mother have done nothing to be ashamed of, but you bear my shame all the same.  People judge you and harass you for your name and family, and Scorpius, there is nothing I would not do to change that fact.

“I can do nothing but beg your forgiveness, my son.”

Something inside Scorpius broke.  He couldn’t recognize the crying, beaten man across the table from him.  He couldn’t comprehend his father’s voice _begging_.  His father didn’t beg, didn’t apologize for his past.  He was self-assured, took pride in doing what needed to be done, and commanded respect wherever he went.  His father was kind and quiet and composed and—how many times had he said it to himself and others?— _not a Death Eater_.

Except he was.  He had admitted it not ten minutes ago, and all at once it occurred to Scorpius that he’d never seen his father in a garment without long sleeves.  The incident with the edible Dark Marks surfaced in Scorpius’s memory, and he couldn’t hold back a sob.  A bloody stranger from Gryffindor knew Scorpius’s own father better than Scorpius himself did.

“I’m _not_ your son.”

The words tore from Scorpius, biting and icy cold, as he ran out of the room and back to his own chamber.  He threw himself face down on the bed and tried to calm his breathing, but he couldn’t stop seeing Father’s face—his look while he confessed, when he apologized, as Scorpius ran out.  _You’re hysterical_ , a small voice in the back of his head informed him.  There were no tears, but it was all he could do not to scream and throw his possessions across the room.  _Keep it together, you’re not some stupid little kid having a tantrum, this behavior is not befitting of a Malfoy_ —

_Do I even want to be a Malfoy?_

 

* * *

 

The Burrow was slightly more subdued now that dinner was over.  Gran had sent the dishes to washing themselves and was chatting in the kitchen with Teddy and most of the aunts.  The children had been sent off to play in the sitting room, but Albus had chosen to escape that cheerful uproar to listen at the door of the guest room where his dad had withdrawn to talk with Rose’s parents.  It was unlike Uncle Ron to miss out on the customary cigars Grandad always passed around, so Al liked his chances of hearing something interesting.

“… really didn’t know anything?” Uncle Ron sounded disappointed.

“Wasn’t expecting him to, t’be honest,” Dad answered.  “Remember how it was for Karkaroff?”

“But could he be a potential target, then?” chimed in Aunt Hermione.

“That would be almost as useful to know as having him on the inside, but we don’t know enough about their motives to say.  We don’t know _anything_.” 

“We know they must have had outside help,” Aunt Hermione said determinedly.  “All of the anti-Apparition jinxes were in place, and there were enough wards on the cells to dampen even accidental magic.  We even developed a bloody spell to prevent Animagus transformations in case they were unregistered—it’s just not conceivable that they got out on their own.”

“We’re not talking about the brightest lot, either,” Uncle Ron continued.  “Maybe Lestrange passed a few OWLs, but MacNair was never good for anything but swinging an axe.”

“But it seems unlikely that they’re the masterminds of this,” his wife countered, “which is why Harry had to go interrogate Malfoy in the first place.” 

Albus started at this mention of Scorpius’s father, but he lost the opportunity to hear more when Rose appeared at the end of the hall.

“Shhhh!” he said in his loudest whisper, gesturing at the door.  Interest sparked in Rose’s eyes, and she sat to put her ear at the crack beside him.

“… not even nervous.  Maybe a bit defensive, but he put on the normal cool arrogant act well.  Definitely not like sixth year.”

“As long as you don’t go following him around again.” Al could hear his uncle’s smirk through the door.

“But who else _is_ there?” Aunt Hermione continued on her own train of thought.  “Of Voldemort’s original circle the only ones left are Rookwood, who’s still in Azkaban, and Lucius Malfoy, who’s half out of his mind and living abroad besides.  And Lestrange and MacNair themselves, I suppose.”

“It wouldn’t have to be somebody directly connected to Voldemort though,” Ron argued.  “It could be any of the old purebloods who want to attack the new system.  Or a gambit by someone entirely different who wants to distract us from their real plan.”

“Gambit...” his father’s voice was absentminded.  “That’s the chess ploy where you sacrifice a piece—“

“—to lure your opponent away from blocking your objective, yes,” Hermione finished for him.  “Ron, that’s a really good thought.”

“Well, don’t be offended or anything, but neither of you are that good at chess.”*  All three laughed as if the words recalled some fond memory.

“Y’know, I’m supposed to be taking a break from work to spend time with family,” Dad said after a moment.  There were sounds of the adults rising, and Albus scrambled back with Rose before they could be discovered eavesdropping.  His retreat took him up the stairs to the next landing, and Rose followed.

“What’d you hear before I came?” she asked, voice hushed, though their parents had gone back down to join the rest of the family.

“I’m not positive,” Al said.  “They were using too many pronouns.  But I _think_ those two men, er—“

“MacNair, I think they said, and Lestrange.”

“Yeah, them, it sounded like they had broken out of Azkaban.”

Rose gasped.  “ _Seriously_?”

“And I think Scorpius’s dad is a suspect, too.  That’s who they were talking about when you got there, and unless Dad went to interview multiple people this morning, he’s the one they meant when your mom said he was either a potential informant or target.”

“No way.  Do you think Scorpius knows anything?”

Al bristled.  “Scorpius isn’t like that.”

“I know he’s—well, I don’t really know,” Rose hesitated.  “But…I trust you.  So if you trust him…”

Al was surprised at the warmth that coursed through him at that; Rose’s trust was something he had taken for granted, and he hadn’t liked not having it. 

“Er, thanks.”  He gave her a small smile, and she grinned back but—typical for Rose—was impatient to move on.

“That isn’t what I meant, though.  About Scorpius.  He may be an arrogant prat in lessons, but I wouldn’t say he’s a Death Eater.  I just thought he might know more about the situation if your dad was at his house this morning.”

“Yeah, maybe.”  Al hadn’t considered that angle.  “I’ll owl him tomorrow.”

“We should write the letter now, while the conversation is still fresh in our head.”

Albus raised his eyebrows at that.  “Since when do you want to correspond with Scorpius Malfoy?”

“What’s this about Scorpius Malfoy?”  Both children winced as Albus’s mum descended upon their conversation.

“Er, well,” Albus tried desperately to think of the best way to spin what he was about to say.  “I’ve, um, made friends with Scorpius Malfoy.”

Mum’s eyes danced, and Albus was relieved when she ruffled his hair instead of shouting at him (though it was a close thing to pick the worse of the two, honestly).

“I’m glad you’re making friends, Al.  And just wait ‘til your Uncle Ron finds out!”  She laughed.

Albus wouldn’t dare admit it, but he really did love his family, and it was nice to see they loved him back.

 

* * *

 

_Dear Scorpius,_

_How are your holidays? I’m sorry I didn’t get you a present. ~~I hope it’s not weird I’m sending this~~._

_Mine have been alright, but I heard my dad talking about an important case last night.  He’s an auror.  Anyway, I couldn’t figure out exactly what he was talking about, but he said he interviewed your dad, so I was wondering if you knew anything?_

_\--Albus Potter_

 

          Scorpius stared at the short note in his hand.  He couldn’t detect any sort of accusatory tone, but it made him feel defensive all the same.  Before he could decide if he even wanted to respond, there was another tap at his window and he looked up to see a second owl.  Wondering who else would have bothered to send him a letter, Scorpius opened it.

         

_Malfoy,_

_Al doesn’t think it’s a good idea for me to send you this, but I want to know as much as he does so I’m sending it anyway.  I’ll just have to hope your not too much of a prat to reply!_

_Does your dad know anything about a breakout from Azkaban?  Al’s dad was talking about some escaped Death Eaters and we heard that he went to talk to your dad about it._

_\--Rose Weasley_

         

Affronted, Scorpius picked up a quill.

 

_Weasley,_

_I’d thank you not to make insinuations about my father, and if you choose to insult me, to do so with the correct grammar (_ you’re _not too much of a prat, not_ your _)_

_\--Scorpius Malfoy_

Shutting down Weasley was the easy part.  He stared at Albus’s letter for another few minutes.  It wasn’t as though he actually knew anything about a breakout from Azkaban (seriously how had that not made the paper?), so he could easily reply with a simple “no” and have done with it.  At the same time, it seemed like an awful half-truth.  Especially, he realized with a sickening feeling in his stomach, because they probably both knew already that his father had been a Death Eater.  If he said he didn’t know anything, would they assume that his father was in on it and that Scorpius was covering for him?

          Scorpius hated this.

          _“It’s not easy, Scorpius,”_ he remembered his mother saying yesterday when she came to his room to talk to him.  _“Your father—and I—just wanted to protect you.”_

_“So you lied to me.”_

_“We failed to be entirely open with you.”_

_“You told me I had nothing to be ashamed of!” Scorpius had cried._

_“And you do not,” Mother had said firmly.  “Your grandparents made amoral decisions.  That does not make you a bad person.”_

_“My grandparents.  And my father.  But it’s not like he’s an important person in my life,” Scorpius said with a level of sarcasm he had never before dared use to address his mother._

_“Scorpius, we didn’t tell you because we didn’t want you going out into the world believing you were not as good as everyone else.”_

_“Oh, I didn’t realize everyone else came from families of_ murders _!”_

_“Scorpius Hyperion, you are behaving like a child.  This situation isn’t nice, it isn’t fair, but it is reality.  That means you accept it and deal with it to the best of your ability, for better or for worse.”_

_Scorpius, sullen, hadn’t replied._

_“The world is not black and white, something most people outside of Slytherin don’t seem to comprehend.  Your family may have an unfortunate past, but does that negate their charity and ingenious contributions to the wizarding world?  The qualities you admire in your father have not disappeared because his past affiliations have come to light.”_

_“Father would never beg for someone’s forgiveness.”_

_“Scorpius, would you prefer he show no remorse for his decisions?”  At his stricken look, his mother moved to put her arms around him.  “He has never truly forgiven himself, and the fact that you are suffering for it makes it worse.  If your father is anything, he’s protective of his family.”_

_Scorpius began to feel bad for his earlier outburst, but before he could say so, his mother continued._

_“He very nearly refused to marry me.  He said I deserved more than to become a social outcast.  Of course, I soon showed him exactly what I thought of him making my decisions for me,” she smiled, and Scorpius did too, despite himself.  His mother was mostly a warm and compassionate woman, but her streak of independence was fierce._

_“Why did you marry him, though?  If you knew?”_

_“I loved him,” Mother said after thinking for a moment.  “I loved him, and nothing worth having comes easily.  And whatever your father—and the rest of wizarding society—thought, he was more than just an ex-Death Eater.”_

_He nodded at that, thoughtfully, and Mother left not long after._

          They had opened presents after supper, and Scorpius had given his father a hug and an apology, but nothing changed the unsettled atmosphere.  Christmas had become like a favourite sweater that no longer fit quite right.

          Scorpius tried to figure out how much of that he wanted to admit to his friend.

 

          _Dear Albus,_

_I haven’t heard anything about an Azkaban breakout (your cousin said that’s what you were asking about).  Your dad did come to talk to mine, but I didn’t hear anything about that._

_I did find something else out, but I’d prefer not to talk about it in a letter.  I don’t think it’s really the kind of information you were looking for, anyway._

_\--Scorpius Malfoy_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scorpius's confrontation with Draco was one of the scenes this story was founded on (Al's Sorting being the other), so I would really really love to hear what you think. Is that how you would have expected it to go down?
> 
> Also, this is everything I already had written, and I'm a few weeks in to my first term at university, so this story is officially on hiatus until sometime during winter break.  
> I am NOT abandoning it; just taking a break so I can write it with the attention it deserves.
> 
> Thanks for reading <3


	9. Dive Back In

“Anyone get anything interesting for Christmas?”

“Mum got sent a Howler this morning,” Rose said conversationally before swearing; the rocking of the train had caused her head to knock into the compartment window.

“Rose!” Gemma gasped exaggeratedly.  “Language!”  Rose gave her a withering glare as the rest of their companions ignored the comment.

“Why’d she get a Howler?” Marvin asked.

“Some nutter bent out of shape about the addendum she’s trying to put in the Equality Act.”  Rose shrugged.  “It happens a lot.”

“That act is so divisive,” Alice commented.  “My mum’s family got into a pretty big argument about it on Boxing Day.”

“It’s only divisive because people are stupid,” Rose replied heatedly.  “Why on earth do employers need to know their workers’ blood-status?”

“Come on,” Marvin said placatingly.  “It’s just a formality thing.  Nobody actually thinks that stuff makes a difference anymore.”

“Then why do they need to know it?” Rose said evenly.

The other girls in the compartment must have picked up on the danger indicated by her tone because Alice was quickly saying, “So, how’s Albus?” before Martin could retort, and Gemma had an amused smirk on her face.  Rose didn’t appreciate the implication that her anger was something to be amused by, but she obliged Alice with the change of subject.

          “He’s fine.  James didn’t give him a hard time or anything.” Rose shrugged, but talking about Al reminded her of their parents’ conversation they’d overheard on Christmas, and about the letters Malfoy had sent each of them—typically snotty and unhelpful to her, and cryptically reticent with Al.  Rose was burning with curiosity to know what Malfoy had found out, and more about the Azkaban breakout generally.  News of the breakout was _still_ classified, though, so she was prevented from talking about it with her friends.  Al was mad she’d even told Malfoy, though how he expected Malfoy to give them useful information if he didn’t even know what they were talking about was beyond her.

“Why is the train stopping?” Gemma piped up.  The question seemed fair to Rose; they should still have another half hour to Hogsmeade station.  The answer came thirty seconds later in the form of a grizzled looking witch in Auror robes.

“I’m Auror MacMillian,” she announced curtly.  “I’m just going to cast a few security spells.  Nothing to worry about, just a precautionary measure.”

Despite her austere words of assurance, the other first years were visibly nervous, and even Rose, who knew full well this had to be because of the breakout, felt on edge.  _Do they really think two old Death Eaters would try to get into Hogwarts?_

It wasn’t a possibility she’d considered, and it wasn’t one she particularly liked considering.  And the fact that the Auror was still standing there muttering spells too quiet for Rose to catch did not put her any more at ease.

“Alright,” she said after a few minutes.  “You should be fine.”  Before any of the first years could reply, she walked out of the compartment.

“That’s not normal, is it?” Gemma asked skeptically.

“I’ve never heard of the Aurors checking the train,” Alice told her. 

“It seems like something they would have had in place for the war,” Martin added, a comment which made Alice bite her lip and Rose shift guiltily. 

“She could have been more reassuring about it, at any rate.”

“She’s an Auror, Gem, not Santa Clause.”

“She didn’t even look at us!” Gemma complained at the same moment Rose asked,

“How do you know about Santa Clause?” 

Rose listened along with the rest as Martin regaled them with a tale about his half-blood father attempting to take the whole family out to a muggle cinema to see a Christmas movie when he and his brothers were little.  Under her laughter, she told herself it wasn’t a big deal that she was keeping the secret of the breakout from her friends.  Really, she shouldn’t have known about it herself, and the Ministry could hardly keep it quiet much longer if they had Aurors running searches.  _They’ll find out soon enough_.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Normally breakfast was the quietest meal of the day, the Great Hall being populated with students who were still only half awake.  To say that Monday morning was an exception to this trend would be an understatement.

“Bloody effing _hell_!” exploded the fifth year next to Albus.  Across the table from him, he saw Montague’s older brother choke on his pumpkin juice, and whispers were spreading across the room like wildfire.

“— _broken out?  But how—“_

_“Why?”_

_“Y’don’t think—“_

_“—he’s_ dead _, I’m telling you, he can’t come back—_ “

         

 **FIRST AZKABAN BREAKOUT IN 20 YEARS** blared the Prophet’s headline.  The news jumped from student to student like dragonpox, and at the high table the staff sat in various states of shock.  The Headmistress had a heartbroken expression on her face, and the ancient Professor Flitwick seemed about to cry.  Professor Longbottom looked like he’d been hit over the head with a frying pan and was itching to pick it up and swing it at the person who’d hit him, and little Professor Creevy looked more dangerous than he ever had in a Defense class.

          _They all fought in the war_ , Al realized.  He remembered how frustrated his dad had seemed over break. 

          “This is probably something out of a nightmare for them,” Maya said, uncharacteristically subdued.  She’d found out this morning with the rest of the student body; as far as Al knew, he, Rose, and Scorpius were the only ones who’d known the news ahead of time.

Scorpius’s face was normally ridiculously pale, but now it was nothing short of grey as he stared at the subheading _Two Death Eaters Back at Large_.  Al remembered his anxiousness as he confessed his dad’s old loyalties in the dorm last night, and realized that this couldn’t be much of a picnic for him either, foreknowledge or no.

And all around them, aghast murmurs of “why”s and “how”s.  Students looked shocked or frightened or suspicious, with the odd muggleborn sported a face of wary confusion.  Throughout the day, professors spoke solemnly in classes that were hard-pressed to remain focused on subject material. 

In the common room after dinner, moods ranged from amused at the chaos to clearly terrified of the increasing animosity Slytherin was sure to face.  Al wondered if Zabini was going to give one of her trademark speeches, but he didn’t even see the prefect around.

Unfortunately, he was able to hear Montague’s extended discourse on why “this _proves_ You-Know-Who’s back from the dead, Walish, ya’ see?”

Al gritted his teeth.  Of all the rumors flying around, that was the one he hated the most, and he cursed the Prophet’s idiot columnist for even bringing up the possibility.  _Free press is overrated._

He had resolved just to ignore Montague, mostly because his obvious bias would make them dismiss any argument he brought up, until he heard the other boy continue,

“Scorpius, have _you_ heard anything?” with a foxlike grin.  Al saw Scorpius tense from across the table where they were doing homework, his face flushing.

“No,” Scorpius answered slowly, before adding, “My dad won’t tell me _anything_.”

Al choked on air, and coughed violently while Montague raised an intrigued eyebrow.

“So your dad knows about the breakout?”  Montague sounded cautious, for once, but his eyes were bright.  Incredulous, Al watched as Scorpius gave a meaningful shrug.

“He knows something.  Over the holidays he was being really secretive, but when I asked what he was so worried about, he told me I was too young to understand.”  Scorpius’s voice was disgusted.  “I’m not stupid, though.  I know which side is right.”

Al tried desperately to reconcile this Scorpius with the boy he’d once found crying because some stupid bullies called his father a Death Eater.  He looked down at his homework rather than let anyone catch sight of his betrayed expression, and wondered if he’d been completely used this autumn.  Surely he wouldn’t have been much use to a boy willing and able to ally himself with the rest of their year-mates, but Montague was taking Scorpius’s about-face in attitude much more in stride than Albus was, and that made Al nervous. 

Through his haze of second guessing Al heard Scorpius declare he was off to bed, and decided to follow.  If they were the only two in the dorm, maybe he could get some answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOOK WHAT'S BACK  
> This update is short (sorry) and the ending is mean (less sorry), but at least you now have proof that I have not abandoned COotS!  
> (What's Scorpius's deal? What do you think of Montague's theory? Should I have done more/any editing?  
> Spoiler alert: the answer to the last question is probably yes)


	10. And the Plot Thickens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My humble attempt to offer an alternative for the supposed travesty that is The Cursed Child

 

Scorpius turned just in time to see Al stalk into the dorm.  He let himself be glared at for a few beats before asking,

“Anything I can help you with?”

“Mind explaining that conversation?” Al replied shortly.  Scorpius’s chest, which had been unpleasantly constricted all day, now spasmed tighter.  He wasn’t sure what the look on Al’s face was—anger or disappointment or even fear.

“I gave them what they wanted to hear.”

“What they wanted to hear was arrogant bigotry?”

Scorpius felt himself flinch, and Al’s own hard expression wavered.

“It’s _not_ what I really think,” Scorpius said quietly, more defensive than he’d been when three Aurors showed up on his doorstep Christmas morning.

“Then why say it?”  Rather than being an angry demand, like his cousin might have offered, Al sounded like he genuinely wanted to understand Scorpius’s motivations.  His expression said he wasn’t promising to agree with those motivations, but it gave Scorpius some hope for his explanation’s reception.

“You saw how the other houses were when the only thing we’d done was pull a prank,” Scorpius started.  His attempt at a diplomatic tone reminded him almost too much of his father trying to close a business deal; he pushed the thought aside.  “It’s not fair, but they’re not likely to spontaneously become more reasonable when confronted with escaped Death Eaters.  Being divided among ourselves won’t help anything.”

Al looked like he very much wanted to retort, but Scorpius pressed on.

“We don’t need more people who don’t like us, and everyone expects me to fall into that line of thought anyway.”  _For good reason_.  Scorpius asked his mind to please shut up.  He’d been thinking and overthinking this point since dinner last night.  “Montague gives me these stupid glances every time he brings up You-Know-Who.  You’re probably the only one that was surprised to hear me say any of that bollocks downstairs.” 

He heard how bitter he was getting and paused to take a breath.

“If people are going to assume that stuff anyway, we might as well use it against them.”

“Against them… how?”

Scorpius took a moment to gather his thoughts, driven more by a desire for procrastination than necessity.

“Look,” he began.  “There’s something going on.  It’s not just the breakout, or else there’s something about the breakout we don’t know.  Why would they search the train?”

“Better safe than sorry?”  Albus offered.  “Everyone’s paranoid when it comes to stuff from the war.”

“Alright, but to jump straight to assuming two old convicts on the run would immediately break into Hogwarts?  It would be a dumb thing for MacNair and Lestrange to do.  Plus the Aurors searched the train before the news of the breakout was even released,” Scorpius continued.  “So it wasn’t just the Ministry wanting to look like they were taking action.”

Al bristled a little.  “It’s not about looking good for the press.  My dad really is trying to do everything he can to catch them!”

“ _Still_ ,” Scorpius pressed on.  “Searching the train was certainly more likely to create panic than it was to actually yield useful information, unless they really do have reason to believe Lestrange and MacNair would specifically target Hogwarts.”

“And you think having an in with an egotistical first year will get you more information on the subject?” Albus moved from disagreement to skepticism.

“It’s not just Montague,” Scorpius said, “It’s the house at large.  I want to know what’s going on, and being outcasts gives us no advantage.”  He knew there was no need to remind Al of their status as outsiders—it was something both boys were keenly aware of.

“Maya’s going to take the mickey for your delusions of grandeur,” Al said, but it sounded less like condemnation and more like resignation. 

Scorpius flushed a little because Al wasn’t wrong.  The thought of being the one to find out the key piece that led to the ex-Death Eaters’ recapture was heady, but, as he rationalized again and again, even if it wasn’t _likely_ , his attempts couldn’t hurt.  He told Al as much.

“You’ll have to act like an ass all the time,” Al muttered.  It occurred to Scorpius that Al wasn’t actually as comfortable with the front as he was.

“I don’t really think like—like a purist,” Scorpius said, almost pleading.  “I don’t, I swear.  It’s just an act.”

Al nodded and forced out an, “I know,” but they finished getting ready for bed in silence.

 

* * *

 

 

Rose glanced at Alice’s copy of the _Prophet_ over breakfast.  It appeared to be mostly the same material that had been occupying all wizarding journalism for the fortnight since the holidays, but Alice was perusing it carefully.

“It’s just so hard to think _why_?” Alice said when she caught Rose staring.  “There’s no more Voldemort for them to rally around.  What do they think they can do?”

Rose had been wondering the same thing herself since she’d found out, so she just shrugged helplessly.

“There’s a rumor going around that You-Know-Who’s not actually dead,” Martin said around a mouthful of eggs.

“Who’s saying that?”  Rose bristled.

Martin swallowed.  “I overheard that Slytherin, Montague, going on about it, but I don’t think he’s the only one.”

“I hope I don’t have to tell you firsties not to listen to anything those snakes try to say,” interjected a genial voice from right behind Rose’s shoulder.  Startled, Rose nearly knocked over her goblet of orange juice; when she turned and saw the speaker had been Pat, she immediately turned red.  He grinned and shot her a wink, which did nothing to lighten her blush.

“They’re just saying that the Ministry tried to claim he was dead last time, when he wasn’t really,” Martin elaborated. 

“That’s bollocks,” Rose said, drawn back in.

“They’re just trying to spread panic,” Pat told them.  “Cowards like it when other people are afraid.”

“Oi, Pat, did you come up with that line yourself?” Dominique’s voice rang out derisively from down the table.  Pat laughed at her teasing; Rose couldn’t help joining in.

“Just remember: don’t listen to anything Slytherins have to say, and you’ll do alright,” Pat told them as he moved to join his older friends.  Rose laughed again at his easy grin before turning back to her breakfast, a smile still on her own face.

“How do you know him, Rose?” Alice asked.

“We met at the match against Slytherin.”

“And you can’t stop smiling because…”  Alice wore an expression that would have been a smirk on anyone else, but even teasing she couldn’t quite pull it off.  Rose glowered anyway.

“What are you talking about?”  She and Martin both broke into giggles at Rose’s expense.  Gemma’s appearance and demand to know what was so funny only escalated their laughter.

“Let’s just go to Potions,” Rose finally interjected.  Her friends followed her cheerfully out of the Great Hall, but Rose only made it two minutes before bursting out, “Okay I think he’s kinda fit.”  Gemma immediately started snickering, Alice cooed, and Martin rolled his eyes.

“Oh, get off your high hippogriff,” Rose snapped at him, but there was no bite behind it.  “I’ve seen you mooning over Cassie’s sister.”

“What?  Gross!”  Rose couldn’t tell if Martin’s blush was because she had suggested it at all, or because she was actually right.

“How ‘bout you, Alice?  Any boy’s caught your eye?” Gemma grinned.

“Or girl?”  Rose added fairly.

“No,” Alice turned nearly as red as Martin.  “I want to wait to date until I’m not right under my dad’s nose all the time.”

They all nodded soberly in response to that bit of prudence, but the conversation had put them in a giggly mood, and they were far from subdued as they set up their cauldrons.

Rose’s flair for Potions had yet to make an appearance, though none of her attempts since had been as disastrous as that first sleeping draught.  Gemma, on the other hand, was shaping up to be truly terrible.  Even with Alice patiently explaining each step and a disproportionate amount of attention from Professor Lewis, Gemma always seemed to mess up something.

“My dad’s rubbish at Potions as well,” Alice would reassure her.  “It just doesn’t click for some wizards.”

“You can drop it after OWLs as long as you don’t want to be a Healer or anything,” Rose would chime in.

Gemma accepted her lack of ability with good grace, but even though it wasn’t a source of frustration for her, her potioneering still had the capacity to create quite a bit of chaos.

          This truth had never been proven quite to the extent that it was proven today.  The goofy mood of the Gryffindor first years fractured their focus, and while, as Professor Lewis later said, “it’s an important learning experience to know that mixing unicorn hair and nightshade will create a violently unpleasant reaction,” _dealing_ with such a violently unpleasant reaction in the moment was rather alarming.

          “Evanesco!” Professor Lewis shouted as soon as she saw Gemma’s cauldron froth over, but she wasn’t able to vanish the potion before a wave of it hit Gemma, Martin, and a Ravenclaw named Tony at the next desk over. 

It was _supposed_ to have been a mixture to cure boils, but the brewing errors had the interesting effect of causing a bright purple fungus to grow rapidly along any exposed skin.

The class erupted; Professor Lewis had to magically magnify her voice to get their attention.

“I NEED EVERYONE TO CALM DOWN!” Removing the spell, Lewis continued, “Miss Weasley, please walk these three to the hospital wing and explain to Madam Clearwater that there was an accident with a botched cure for boils.” 

Rose nodded.  She heard Professor Lewis begin a gentle reprimand explaining why focus was important in potion-making as they walked out of the dungeon. 

“Well that was interesting,” Gemma finally said, examining the fungus on her arm.  “I think this is spreading.”

Martin groaned, and Rose laughed a little at his expense; he was walking gingerly with his arms carefully held out so they didn’t touch the rest of his body, and his expression was somewhere between terror and disgust.

“Madam Clearwater will get rid of it as soon as we get up to the hospital wing,” Rose told him.  “It doesn’t really matter how much it spreads now.”

“It’s _gross_ ,” Martin complained.  Tony still failed to comment on the situation, but his face said he agreed with this assessment. 

“It’s not as weird looking on you,” Gemma commented.  “The color isn’t as bright compared to your skin.  I’m just too pale.”

“Oh, what a relief,” Martin’s voice dripped sarcasm.  “I’ve always wanted to know if I could pull off the _purple fungal growth_ look.”

As Rose had predicted, Martin’s ability in this area was ultimately a nonissue.  Madam Clearwater poked at the fungus a few times with her wand and gave the three of them a general antidote while Rose’s focus wandered to the other patients.  Fred ended up here a lot, sometimes dragging Dom in with him, but the only people here today were an older Slytherin student and a curtained off bed at the end of the row. 

“You’ll be fine to go in fifteen minutes,” she told them.  “Miss Weasley, you might as well wait with the rest of them.”  Rose was pleased with the permission to hang out in the hospital wing—she wasn’t particularly interested in Healing, but her potion was surely ruined already, so there was no point returning to class.

Satisfied that the first years were capable of recovering on their own for a few minutes, Madam Clearwater bustled off to see to the wing’s other occupants.

“What did you even _do_ to your potion?” Tony demanded as the violet color faded from his hand.

“Hell if I know,” Gemma said, clearly unappreciative of the Ravenclaw’s condescension.  Rose turned to see the argument play out, but before she could give it her proper attention, she heard Hagrid’s gruff voice from the bed behind the curtain.

“Really, Penny, ‘m fine.  Merlin knows I’ve had worse.” 

Rose supposed Madam Clearwater must have replied too quietly for her to hear because a few moments later Hagrid boomed, “Seventy years I’ve been living by that forest, ain’t nothing in there that’d hurt me!”

If it wasn’t the forest, what had put Hagrid in the hospital wing?  Rose drifted towards his bed, trying to look as casual and confident as Victoire, as unassuming as Al.  _Like a spy_.

“Hagrid, you can leave tomorrow.  There’s been no permanent damage, but I really have to advise you to be more careful in the future,” Madam Clearwater was saying.  Hagrid grumbled, but must have assented because she continued, “I better go check on the others now.”

Rose skittered back towards her friends, missing the Slytherin’s raised eyebrows but escaping Madam Clearwater’s notice.  They were released after a short lecture on potion safety and the importance of wearing dragonhide gloves, but Rose’s thoughts were elsewhere.

 

After lunch she climbed up to the Owlery and called down Gonçalo—her snowy Athena was taking a letter home at the moment.

“Take this to Al,” she whispered, tying a note to his leg.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Al was surprised to see his owl swoop into the common room after some fourth year.

“Why aren’t you out hunting?” he asked the tawny bird when it landed in front of him.  Gonçalo didn’t answer, just offered his leg for Al to remove the note.

 

_Al,_

_Meet me at Hagrid’s before dinner tomorrow.  It’s important._

_\--Rose_

Al closed his eyes, reluctant to put forth the effort required to actually consider the meaning behind Rose’s cryptic note.  Gonçalo clucked and rubbed his head against Al’s palm, no doubt searching for a treat.  Al dug one out of his bag.

“It’s nice that one friendship in my life is straightforward,” he told the owl.

“Potter, why do you have a bird in the common room?” Maya plopped down beside him at the oak table, her question a mix of skepticism and delight.  Gonçalo immediately went to perch on her shoulder, and Al glared at the betrayal.

“He was delivering a letter.”

“At this time of night?”

“It was from Rose.  She wants to meet tomorrow.”  Normally Al was careful about how much he talked about his family—especially now, with all the tension about the Azkaban breakouts.  But two weeks of hardly talking to anyone at all had apparently worn down his defenses.

“And she couldn’t just tell you at breakfast?” Maya rolled her eyes.  “You’re part of the most dramatic family in this school.”

Al wasn’t in the mood to be teased, but it wasn’t like he could disagree with that.

“You know, my brother James dressed as Professor Flitwick for Halloween last year.  I think he actually gave a few first years detention before Professor Creevy dragged him to the Headmistress’s office.”

Maya laughed.

“He should have just dressed as Professor Creevy.  ‘This is a spell I learned from Harry Potter himself!  Pay close attention now’,” she said in a remarkable imitation of the Defense professor’s high voice.

“My dad’s taught half the wizarding world how to do a shield charm, to hear Creevy tell it,” Al said wryly.

“To hear most people tell it, Potty.  Your dad is _kind of_ a famous guy.”

Al snorted, felt a little bit bad for snorting, and then decided he didn’t care.  He could laugh at the wizarding world’s ridiculous perception of his father if he wanted to.

“So what’s the deal with you and Malfoy?” Maya nodded to where Scorpius was sitting with Davies and a few older students where they sat in a corner of the common room—the same spot Albus had been avoiding all night.

“He’s ingratiating himself.”

“And you’re not?”

“He’s… better suited for it.”

“And if it looks like an owl and hoots like an owl,” Maya said meaningfully.

“The whole point of the war was for the pureblood supremacy crap to be stamped out,” Al said in a furious whisper.  “And I don’t think Scorpius actually subscribes to those beliefs but encouraging them and acting like they’re okay is kind of just as bad.”

“Right, Potty, everyone knows Voldemort was the only one who thought like that, and he magically converted all his followers.”

Albus glared at Maya, knowing he was not being at all diplomatic and that he was probably about to alienate one of the only friends he had left.  But he hated when she accused him of being naïve.

“And everyone knows that bloody students are the ones in on whatever evil plan we’re in the middle of now.  Scorpius’s ‘spying’ is _so_ beneficial.”

“Keep your friends close—“

“—and your enemies closer, yeah I know.  Whatever.”

They glowered at each other.  It probably would have been an amusing stand off for the older students to witness, if they were paying attention.  Two of the shortest first years, dark heads hunched together, glaring like they were about to go for their wands.  Al did not appreciate the feeling of looking ridiculous, and that calmed him down as much as anything, though he refused to speak first.

“So if you’re on the outs with Malfoy,” Maya finally said, “can I come with you to see whatever it is Weasley wants?”

 

 

Hagrid’s hut was cheerful and warm and an excellent break from the bleakness of the January grounds.  Al tried to take comfort in that, at least.  Rose was already chatting with Hagrid when he and Maya got there, and though she narrowed her brown eyes dangerously when she saw the other Slytherin, she didn’t say anything.  Al told himself he could consider that a good thing too.  But he still didn’t know why she’d wanted to meet, and not knowing was putting him on edge.  Everything put him on edge lately.

“Scone?” Hagrid offered Al a very solid looking blob.  Al wondered if he would be able to feed it to Crusher without being noticed.  Or endangering the dog’s digestive system.

“Why’re you all down here anyway?”  Hagrid asked after being introduced to Maya.  “Is everything alrigh’?”

“Yes,” Rose said earnestly.  “We just heard that you had been in the hospital wing and wanted to come check and make sure you were okay.”

“Argh, well isn’t that nice o’ you,” Hagrid’s steel wool beard twitched in a manner that looked pleased.  Al, who _hadn’t_ heard Hagrid had been in the hospital wing, tried to make eye contact with Rose.

“What happened?” Rose asked instead of looking at him.

“Not sure if I should tell yeh.  S’not a nice story.”

“Please sir?” Maya said in the sweetest tone Al had heard from her yet.  He switched his gaze to Maya, and continued to feel out of his depth.  “The thrilling stories are the best ones.”

“Well—as long as you don’t go spreadin’ it around,” Hagrid gave in.  “I was attacked.”

Rose gasped, and Al finally spoke up.  “By who?”

“It was from behind.  Never saw the bugger, which’s lucky for him, I can tell yeh that much.”

“Was it something from the forest?”

“There’s nothing in that forest that’d hurt me!” Hagrid said, sounding genuinely angry.  “More’n seventy years I’ve lived here and never once been attacked in my own garden.”

“Do you think it was a person, then?” Maya’s dark eyes were wide, adding to the (by Albus’s experience) entirely false impression that she was a vulnerable child.  Hagrid, who didn’t know better, softened at her question.

“Argh, I don’ like to speculate.  S’no reason it couldn’t have been some runaway looking to steal some cabbage or summat.  Doesn’t have to be those escaped Death Eaters.”

Albus choked on his tea, and he knew without even seeing her that Rose would look like she’d just been dealt an electric shock.  He could practically feel the sparks flying off her as she rapidly folded this theory—which Hagrid was obviously convinced of, otherwise he wouldn’t be looking so guilty right now—into what they already knew of the breakout.

 _But why would they come to Hogwarts?  And actually_ attack _someone?  They’re just compounding the odds they get themselves caught._

“Has the Headmistress organized a search or anything?”

“The grounds were all swept ‘fore they let anyone back from holidays.  They don’ want t’ cause a panic.  Too many parents remember the last war; the Headmistress is worried they’d have students pulled out left and right.”

“But—Aurors searched the train with no evidence they might be on at all!” Al said, surprised at the inconsistency.  “Surely they should at least do patrols, or _something_ , with an attack actually on the books!” 

“’Spect they don’t have too much faith in old Hagrid’s report.”

          This pathetic admission made Hagrid look as old and defeated as Al had ever seen him, and somehow small, like his size came more from his usual boisterous enthusiasm than his parentage.  Al was glad when Rose spoke up hotly.

          “That’s ridiculous!  You’re _not_ crazy, Hagrid, and even if you were, they should still be taking this seriously!  I’m going to write to Mum and Uncle Harry as soon as we get back to the castle, honestly.  This is bollocks.”

          “Nah, Rosie.  Yer sweet to say it, but there’s no reason to make it a bigger deal than it is.  Let yer parents do their jobs, they’ll catch ‘em soon enough, and I’ll keep an eye on the old forest myself.”

          “Okay,” Rose said skeptically.  “But if you see anything, promise you’ll tell someone?  Even if it’s just us?  We’ll believe you.”

          “Alrigh’,” Hagrid gave in.  “Now how’s yer dad handling the Cannons season this year?”

          Not sure Rose would go along with the blatant change in subject, Al jumped in.

          “How is _she_ handling it, you mean.  You only cried into Peakes’s jersey once this year, right, Rose?”  _We’ll talk about everything later_ , he telegraphed with a pointed stare.

          She sighed, and Al assumed Maya was rolling her eyes at the theatrics, though he didn’t look to check.  She was just as likely to be rolling her eyes at Quidditch talk, though; she had yet to attend even one school match.

          “They were so close in that match against Appleby!  If Simmins had just been a second faster after the Snitch—“

          “—they would have lost by only 50 points instead of 350.”

          “Albus Severus Potter, you shut your mouth.  How many matches have the Harpies won since your mum retired?”

          “How is yer mum, Al?” Hagrid interjected, chuckling at the fake heat in their argument.  The conversation relaxed—Maya even joined in with admirable civility once they strayed from Quidditch—and the afternoon wound up being very pleasant indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to assume that if you're still reading at this point you're used to my shitty update schedule so I'm just going to stop apologizing at this point. 
> 
> There is definitely an increasing amount of intrigue at this point (and some classic tropes-- Hagrid spilling some crucial beans, who doesn't love it) so I'll blame some of the slow going on that (pfft planning ahead? what? crazy). But this definitely is not abandoned and won't be in the foreseeable future.
> 
> (and as always, I'd love a comment <3)


	11. Now That Everything's Complicated

 

          As Easter approached, Al thought that, while the escape of the Death Eaters and the attack on Hagrid were perplexing indeed, his classes were really more preoccupying.  They were beginning multi-step potions, caring for carnivorous plants in Herbology, and Professor Nott said that they would start working at transforming insects within the week.  So while Al was careful to keep his eyes and ears open, the opportunities they had for observation were limited largely to the library.

          Especially because the Slytherin common room was once again becoming the most distasteful place in the castle.  Al liked his room, and the low ceiling tunnels you had to walk through to get to it, dark, comforting rather than claustrophobic.  But in the room was Scorpius, or if not Scorpius, Montague or Davies, who were worse in all accounts except they inspired no feelings of betrayal (however unfair), having never been friendly to Al in the first place.

          And the common room was filled with hisses about how Hagrid deserved to be attacked—rumors of the event having slowly trickled around the school—and pointed remarks about how bad all of the problems looked on the “radical” movement Hermione Granger was spearheading. 

 _Rewriting the laws put into place by a corrupt regime is “radical” now?_   Al would think furiously at the whisperers (and the ones who didn’t bother to whisper), but he knew better than to think confronting them would actually do any good.  Certainly _him_ confronting them would be useless.

          They weren’t stupid enough to whisper like that outside of the common room, not most of them.  Zabini had already made another pointed speech about their behavior being above reproach in order to disprove the other houses’ biases against them.  The point was a good one, though it seemed to Al that there were plenty of Slytherins who didn’t much care for the respect of the other houses, so long as they could have revenge for the taunts and tricks that continued to rain down on the snakes. 

          On top of the direct attacks, they were getting framed for stuff now too.  Really vile stuff too that Albus hoped to Merlin hadn’t actually been done by anyone in his own house, just for the sake of his own sanity.  _Muggle Lover_ had been graffittied in everlasting ink outside the Headmistress’s office, and Al had personally seen house elves scrubbing angrily at the M-word or a Dark Mark on two different occasions.  It made him sick, and everyone else only seemed to care about how they were being implicated for the transgressions, not that they were happening in the first place.

          Clay Walish, whom Al had never taken much notice of, was very quiet these days.

          Al knew better than to owl Dad to ask how the Azkaban case was going; he wouldn’t get an answer, and Dad would start wondering why Al thought he needed to know.  But he hoped it would get closed soon—it seemed like the only way to get everything back to the slightly-less-uncomfortable norm he’d enjoyed just before the winter holidays.

 

* * *

 

         

          “Mr. Malfoy, please see me after class, I’d like a word.”

          Scorpius barely glanced at the piece of homework Professor Nott returned to him, too busy trying to think of what he could have done that would warrant a private conversation with his intimidating head of house.  Surely it couldn’t be about class—Transfiguration was his favorite subject, and he knew he’d been doing excellent work.

          “We will be working again today with the beetles.  If you have already managed to engineer the transformation from beetle to brooch, attempt to turn the brooch into a beetle.  You will find it harder to go from object to lifeform, but not unattainably so if your thinking is focused and disciplined.  You may begin.”  A wave of his wand sent a beetle to each student’s desk and Scorpius shook his head, trying to shift his focus to the lesson.  He’d managed the transfiguration last class, but the brooch was still in the shape of a scarab.

          “Miss Roth, saying the incantation more loudly does not make the spell more effective.  Miss Weasley, relax.  Take a moment to visualize the end result of your spell, it will give you more finesse than running bullheaded through the process.”

          Scorpius heard Weasley huff at being corrected, but she produced a remarkable ruby brooch on her next attempt.  He tried the tip himself, with similar results.

          “So remind me why they’re letting Death Eaters keep their wands now?”

          The snickers were getting easier to ignore; that comment wasn’t half as bad as some of the abuse that was thrown at him in the corridors when there weren’t any teachers around.

          Beside him, Montague chuckled too, as though it was hilarious that people assumed Scorpius was a Death Eater.  He honestly couldn’t figure out if Montague was actually stupid, or just mean enough to ignore whether he was being ideologically consistent with his digs.  He’d made far more discriminatory comments against Muggleborns than Scorpius ever had, and teased him about being everything from You-Know-Who’s right hand man to “the first Weasley without red hair.”

          Scorpius missed Al.

          “Mr. Potter, a little more conviction.  Focus on exactly what you want.  This should not be so difficult.”

          Scorpius did not look over to Al.

          “Mr. Malfoy, were you planning on using your wand sometime today or not?”

          Firmly Scorpius returned his attention to the brooch, which became a solid jeweled beetle after a wave of his wand.  As many times as he transformed it back and forth, he could not make his beetle reanimate.  Weasley appeared to be the only one who managed it—she got twenty points to Gryffindor, compared to Scorpius’s ten.  It rankled; transfiguration was supposed to be _his_ area of excellence.

          The class filed out; Scorpius left his bag on his desk and caught Professor Nott’s eye.  The anxiety that had plagued him at the beginning of class returned with admirable force.

          “You wanted to speak to me, sir?”

          “I do not make a habit of coddling my students, Mr. Malfoy.  They must learn to solve problems themselves, without relying on authority figures to clean up after them.”

          Scorpius was certain in that moment that Professor Nott knew exactly who had vandalized the Gryffindor common room.

          “That being said, it is my responsibility to ensure the welfare of my students.”  The professor folded his long limbs under his desk and took off his glasses; Scorpius assumed this was intended to put him at ease, though he doubted whether there was anything the man could have done to actually accomplish this.  “Mr. Malfoy, is everything alright?”

          This was not a conversation Scorpius was eager to have.  _Straight back.  Meet his eyes.  Don’t let on you’re nervous._

          “Yes, sir.  Why do you ask?”

          “Mr. Malfoy, I will not force you to confide in me, but I ask you kindly not to insult my intelligence.  Nothing occurs in this classroom without my knowing.”

          “I can handle a few insults, sir.”

          “You’re a better man than your father, then.”  A glimmer of a smirk shown through Professor Nott’s impassive professionalism, and Scorpius was left wondering how backhanded the compliment was intended to be.  But even after everything, he rose automatically to his father’s defense.

          “Sir, my father is a good man.”

          He wished Nott would put his glasses back on; his eyes looked almost sad, and deep somehow.  It was far more uncomfortable to face than the professor’s usual cool intimidation.

          “I cannot judge that.”  He sighed, then stood, relieving Scorpius of his gaze for the first time since their conversation began.  “But, Scorpius, I do hope you do not repeat his mistakes.”

         

* * *

 

         

Rose hoped the Death Eater case would close soon.  The papers, having apparently done enough fearmongering over the escapes, were now turning to heavy criticisms of the “supposed heroes” who “have failed to adequately address this critical situation”.  There were few enough students who read the papers, especially in Rose’s year, but the rhetoric seemed to have spread through the castle somehow until Rose vowed to hex the next person who tried to explain how her mother was singlehandedly destroying wizarding culture through incompetent leadership.

          Worse, it wasn’t just idiot Slytherins parroting that rubbish.  Harry had been sitting unfortunately within her earshot the morning he described the aneurysm his mother would have if “that Granger bitch” ever got a bid for Minister.

          Her Uncle Harry was slightly less vilified, but Rose knew James had already gotten in three different fights defending him, and he seemed awfully unsurprised the night the entire Slytherin table managed to consume Babbling Beverage over dinner.

          “Maybe they should just step down,” Martin suggested one day in Charms.  “Obviously everyone really respects them, but they don’t seemed to be making much headway.”

          “Who exactly do you think is more qualified to handle this case than the people that were directly responsible for defeating Voldemort?” Rose snapped.

          “I’m not doubting their capabilities, but this divisiveness they’re causing isn’t helping anything.  Maybe they could just use some fresh eyes, you know?”

          “No, I don’t know.”  Rose slammed her book closed and went to the library to study alone.  She browsed the Herbology section for a while, wondering if she should go to Neville—he would at least understand why she was so upset, even if he couldn’t actually do anything to fix the problem.  A group of older students walked in, taking their lives into their hands by chatting that loudly in Madame Edgecomb’s library.

          “See if they have _Toadstools that Change Their Spots_ for me too, will you?”  Dominique’s voice floated back from the table where the group had settled themselves; Rose honestly should have guessed that at least one of her cousins would be part of such rowdy behavior.

          She pulled _Magickal Herbs and Enchantments_ off the shelf, hoping it wouldn’t fall apart while she checked the index.  The tome must have been ancient even in her grandmother’s day.

          “’Scuse me.”

          Rose turned to see Pat’s easy grin.

          “Oh, hey!”

          “Hey, Rose, right?”

          “Yeah,” Rose nodded before realizing she’d never moved out of his way; she jerked back a step.  “Sorry, what are you looking for?”

          “Dom needs a book for this howler of an essay Lewis assigned her year.  I tell you, I am not looking forward to OWL year.”  Rose smiled back at him.  “But what’s a firstie like you doing stuck in the library?”

          “Just looking for some extra material on pruning spells.  Professor Longbottom was talking about how not all plants respond the same way, but he didn’t go into it much.”

          “You’re a smart one, damn.  I still don’t study that much!”

          “I’d rather read a book than deal with all the idiots in the castle right now,” Rose confessed.

          “Yeah, there’s some nasty stuff going around.  No one’s been giving you too much trouble?”

          _Don’t smile at that, this is a weird point in the conversation to smile._

          “Mostly people insulting my mom and Uncle Harry.  And the Slytherins are just being Slytherins.”

          “Hey, well, don’t let the snakes get you down, okay?” Without waiting for a response, Pat grinned.  “I’ll see you around.”

          “See you,” Rose said to his back.  As she studied alone at her table, she looked over to Pat and Dom’s lot more often than she would have if she really cared more about cutting back Flutterby Bushes than having friends who watched out for her and had her back, even when things were frustrating and kind of scary and the easiest thing for everyone else was to let her storm off on her own.

          Which was entirely to say, she missed Al and how uncomplicated their friendship used to be.  How uncomplicated everything used to be.

 

          And that was even before Amanda Selwyn dragged herself in from the grounds, looking half-dead, crying that she’d been attacked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I try not to self call, and I know my update schedule is horrendous, and I spent approximately 10 minutes editing this chapter, but it's still a better sequel than The Cursed Child.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading/putting up with inconsistent updates. I know myself better than to promise anything regarding the next chapter but I would still love a comment/any feedback!

**Author's Note:**

> I started this story on HPFF, but I'm in the process of moving it here.  
> I just wanted to explore the difficulties the next gen would face (this fic sprung up around the idea of how exactly Al's Sorting would go) and this is what I've got. Reviews would be super super appreciated, as this is still very much a work in progress!


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